In the Eyes of the Queen
by Riley Berg
Summary: Only 19, I have managed to lead a relatively normal life-if you don't count goblins and secret admiration. Unfortunately, my compassion is going to once again get me in trouble. The problem is, though I will succeed in my mission, this time I may not be able to save myself too. And I probably don't want to.
1. Normality verses Alternate Reality

Disclaimer: As this _is_ a _fan fiction_, I do not own the Labyrinth (or any other publicly recognizable content) as much as I would LOVE that… Like, trade my first-born child for it type of love… Wait, no. He already imitates Jareth… too cutely brainwashed to give away. Sorry, second-born, you're it. [Credit goes to the proper owners; I am just utilizing them to tell a tale.]

Hope you like it! Reviews are love! And addictive. And motivational. At least follow, if not favorite. And as for reviews: I gladly anticipate constructive criticism along with praise, questions, and encouragement, and humor—LOTS of humor.

Please visit my blog (the link is on my profile) to read my original work!

Oh, and warning: **I set this in the modern world**, even though it is only 3 ½ years later. I am rather bad at setting things in the past, even by a few years, for some reason, so I set it in a non-specific modern-ish world.

Without further ado, for the nine thousandth time, I bring you Laby Fic:

Chapter One

Normality verses Alternate Reality

"Sarah!"

I look up, startled, though I do not know why—I should be used to this by now. A blonde and rather peppy orthodontic assistant is standing at the top of the stairs, bouncing on her toes like an overexcited teenager. I breathe out a laugh through my nose to disguise my mirth and try to prevent the smile I feel twitching at the corners up my lips.

Doing my best to look annoyed, I roll my eyes. "What _is_ it Dee? Shouldn't you be working?" I feel my façade crack. Her happiness is rather contagious, even if I do not yet know what inspires it.

"When is your birthday!?"

My smile dims a little and I attempt to glare at her. This is not quite as funny. Who found out about my birthday? I have great coworkers, but they are a little overenthusiastic sometimes. Although I feel a great connection with them, my relationships with them do not extend far outside of work. I have not had too much backlash from that decision, since most of the staff are old enough to be my mother, or nearly so, and the orthodontist is off limits as my boss, even if he _is_ single, handsome, and rather young. Dee is another matter entirely, though. She is in her mid- or late-twenties (I know better than to ask) and has one of those sisterly personalities; she tries to drown me in her affection. We are not close in age by the standards of children and young adults, but she feels more connection to me, it seems, than our other coworkers. And she thinks she can talk about how _hot_ she thinks our boss is in front of me. Awkward, but funny.

"Next week," I begrudge her.

"The day! The day!" she coaxes.

I sigh. "Monday, but it doesn't matter. Doctor Wheeley is forcing me to take _two weeks_ off in celebration of graduation and my birthday. I could barely convince him to let me finish the week."

"Graduation? When did you graduate?"

I look at her, surprised. I thought everyone knew. "I finished my courses Tuesday—that is why I have been working full days—and all the paperwork is completed and submitted, so I am just awaiting my physical proof. The ceremony is Saturday, but I am not attending." I said more than I intended, but Dee has that effect on me, what with her being the elder sister type and all.

"Oh," she replies simply. "Why not?"

"I don't want to," I reply, equally as simply.

"Well, tomorrow is your last day before vacation then, right? How about we throw you a little party at lunch?"

I stare at her. Well, if I thought I could get out of the traditional birthday party, I was wrong. I laugh inwardly, picturing the bunch of motherly coworkers fussy over my nonexistent love life, Dee bouncing around with a cake and (most likely odd) presents, and subjecting the doctor to, and making him pay for, all that. 'All is well on the northern front. Same ol', same ol',' I muse.

"We have long lunches Fridays anyway, so we'll just have it then!"

Dee does not wait for a reply. She turns in place and rushes down the stairs. I shake my head for no one's benefit but my own and look at the clock. I have only a few more minutes before my lunch ends and theirs begins. I do not always prefer to eat lunch alone, but the staff's lunch is a great time to catch up with my duties as sterilization technician, when there are no patients to add to the mess I must clean.

Fridays are my favorite, because the long lunch hour gives me time to do my more time-consuming weekly duties without having to juggle the incoming mess as patients leave. I will have to see if I can complete them this afternoon and tomorrow morning, because I doubt anyone can or will talk Dee out of her plans. In fact, they will, as tradition dictates, add to them. Birthdays are of great import among the staff. I think we just like an excuse to party, even if it is without alcohol and among a bunch of middle-aged women in the corner booth of a nondescript restaurant (though the _food_, I assure you, is _delicious_).

The rest of the day is a blur of activity, but I walk out of work satisfied. Everything is clean, and I even got some of my every-week tasks done along with my daily ones. Dee's excitement was infectious as predicted, so the almost spur-of-the-moment birthday party tomorrow is now official Our afternoon schedule is somehow devoid of patients, though, so I will have some time after to finish my duties before I leave for the imposed two-week vacation.

I walk out to my car. The week in which I am in the midst has been and will be quite busy, but I do not mind that. Rather, I am dreading what comes after it: nothing. I finished my finals, made sure that I had made all the proper arrangements for the processing of my bachelor's degree, and managed to talk my way out of attending the graduation ceremony. I worked a few full days; I usually work only afternoons. Tomorrow will be a busy morning and lunchtime will be overwhelming, though I am not sure whether or not in a good way. I will get to use the afternoon to complete my duties to satisfaction and maybe leave earlier than usual. I am babysitting for my father and stepmother tomorrow night (Yes, I still babysit at eighteen. But can you blame me? Toby is too cute to resist.), and spending the night so we can celebrate my birthday (early) all day Saturday. Monday, my actual birthday, my old school friend Alice will kidnapped me and pull me around town doing unnecessarily girly things all day before taking me back to her house, primping me, and taking me out for a girls' night. I will eventually escape her and watch the clock as it turns over to my birth minute—11:43 pm.

What I dread is the thirteen days thereafter. Doctor Wheeley is giving me paid vacation time as a graduation and birthday gift. I am not sure whether or not it is a gift I want, though. I have spent three years working constantly toward my degree and filling in my spare hours with part-time jobs. I have no idea what to do with free time. Well, that is not true. I know what to do with free time, I just wonder what will happen if I have _that much_ free time and therefore spend _that much_ time in my usual activities.

Everyone looks at my life and thinks it is perfect. I found a program that allowed me to attend university in high school and use the credit dually for high school and university. I graduated high school a year ago, and by taking summer courses and an extra heavy course load during the school years, I have graduated with a four-year degree in three years. Of course, that (and other things I will not at this time mention) did not leave me much time for a social life, but I did not mind.

%%%

The next day is as busy as expected. The morning hours are overwhelmed with cleaning up, such that I cannot perform any of my weekly tasks. Everyone from work goes to our local favorite restaurant and Doctor Wheeley pays for everyone's meals. (Poor doctor… mwahaha.) They have a cake waiting for us when we return from lunch and Dee bought me a present on behalf of the staff. (A flowing, pink scarf that I will not admit to liking. Wait, does saying that count as admitting I like it? Gr!) Doctor Wheeley gives me a card. ("Something simple from me, Miss Williams," he says, and leans down to add confidentially in my ear "along with the vacation I had to nearly _force _you on.")

When the festivities are over, I retreat to the back room to finish processing the instruments used this morning and peak into each room to make sure nothing was missed. I hate leaving with things undone—and it _was_ dirty—but we rushed out of the office after the last patient.

The others have left, except for Doctor Wheeley and Jill, a female staff member we dubbed "Jill of All Trades," so I use the quiet time and lack of patients to complete my weekly checklist. I feel sorry for the two of them because I am sure they are only remaining behind because I am.

I finish early. After exchanging my nitrile gloves for my infinitely more comfortable leather ones and pulling on my sleeveless hooded jacket, I say goodbye to Doctor Wheeley, and go back to the main floor to fetch Jill. As I wait for Jill to gather her things, I stretch my hands and fidget with my long sleeves. Jill looks at me curiously.

"It looks childish to wear long sleeves under your uniform, Sarah. I don't know why you insist, or why Doctor Wheeley lets you."

"We wear long pants, close-toed shoes, exam gloves, safety glasses, and masks," I say, exasperated. "Despite all that, we wear short-sleeved shirts. _That_ is odd, not the other way around."

Jill eyes me, her eyes briefly hesitating on the hood pulled over my scarf-covered head, and then my gloves. She clearly wonders if I am overly modest. We exit the building together, locking the door behind us, before venturing to our separate vehicles.

%%%

I sigh as I put the key in the lock with gloved fingers, and with the exhaled air go all my concerns. It has been a figuratively long day and I am anxious to get inside and relax for a moment before I have to get ready to go. I hear a scuttle as the lock clicks and I roll my eyes. No doubt my small apartment is in greater dishevelment than I left it in.

I open the door and the expected mess greets me. My small collection of cook- and kitchen-ware covers the floor, though it mostly remains near the kitchenette. Clothing litters the bottom of my open wardrobe and spills onto the floor, with some pieces hanging precariously halfway off of their hangers and others hanging out of a few open drawers of my dresser. My foldaway bed is in place, but blankets and a sheet are out-of-place in a corner, adding to the mess. Merlin is wearing a sweater around his neck (I wonder how they managed that?). Ki is wearing my one and only baseball cap and his twin Ky is paused in mid-snatch. If the sofa cushions were not sewn on, I am sure they would be across the room.

Like Ki and Ky, the rest of the mischievous goblins are frozen in place; some were rushing to hide, others to tidy. I would usually be upset, or at least frustrated. It is, of course, the nature of goblins to be mischievous. Even so, I managed to secure a certain companionship from them as well as respect that begot obedience. I ignore their unoriginal attempts at mischief most of the time, and sometimes give them playful things to do. I even taught some of the more intelligent ones useful things. I allow only the small goblins to visit the flat, since there is not much room (especially with Merlin here). Between that fact and the one that the more intelligent ones seem more likely to gravitate toward me, they really are not too much trouble.

Sure that they intended to tidy before my return—which was unexpectedly early today—I decide it is not worth the energy to reprimand them and I step around them and the messes on the floor to sit on the equally messy sofa with a relieved sigh.

A few goblins relax in place, but are still afraid to move further. I glance down at them.

"Well?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

I do not need to expound. They immediately return to their hurried tidying, or come out from hiding to help. Ky snatches the hat from his brother's head and places it on his own before joining the work, but Ki is too absorbed in rushed obedience to notice.

I close my eyes and listen to the familiar scurrying and inaudible whispers as I hear drawers and doors open and close, dishes and cookware clink, and clothes and blankets rustle. I smile to myself, knowing that this should not be familiar at all. Beyond my walls, the real world awaits. Yet I cannot deny the alternate reality I am aware of. Though I never can return to the otherworld, whatever it is called, I cannot reject what part of it comes to and envelopes me in this in-between existence. This is my reality, and although my dreams are tempered, I am okay with that. After all, I am an adult now; there is no time for daydreaming. (And my reality is just as—if not more—more fantastical than others' dreams.)

The sounds around me slowly fade and I feel Merlin lay on my feet. I sense another presence near me. A small sound next to me on the couch indicates that one of the goblins has climbed up beside me and is attempting to clear his throat politely. (Trust me, that is something you never want to hear.) I open my eyes and look over. _Her_ throat. It is Gelda, the only female among my goblin visitors.

Actually, I am not entirely sure Gelda _is_ a goblin; one does not go around asking questions like that. She is thin and, like all the goblins in my company, short. Though she only reaches me shoulder in height she is by far the tallest among my company. Her skin is of the same quality as her goblin cohorts, but unusually dark. I cannot decide whether it is black or a deep blue. Her features are more human, and her hair hangs from her head like long, sleek black fur that shimmers blue in the light with her every movement. She is actually rather beautiful.

I have grown so accustomed to Gelda's unusual intelligence, devotedness, and helpfulness that I cannot imagine living without her. Thinking back, I realize she was not present when I first returned. She is the only one I allow freedom of choice concerning her location; I shoo the other goblins out at night and often order them away as my mood dictates. Since when did I turn into such a cruel master? I smile mischievously at the thought.

Uhg! The goblins are influencing me! How do unintelligent, smelly, dirty, ill-behaved, nesting, useless-armor-wearing _goblins_ influence _me_?

I look at the armorless Gelda expectantly, and she knows she is to continue.

"You are visiting Prince Toby—"she pauses, trying to recall the human words "—this weekend, are you not, your h—Lady Sarah?"

I wince several times during her sentence, but say nothing. I have allowed the goblins to refer to Toby as "prince" if only because Toby seems to like it and I cannot help but spoil the child. I dislike being called "lady" but it is better than many of the other titles the goblins (and Sir Didymus) try to lay on me. Gelda is usually careful about what she calls me, so I am surprised that she almost made a mistake, especially because the title I assume she was about to call me is my least—no, third least—favorite. She has been away recently, so perhaps the overwhelming influence of her goblin cohorts temporarily overpowered my influence.

"Yes."

"Then, milady, may I help you ready yourself?"

I feel my eyebrows rise, though it is not in surprise as it would have been a few years ago. It is in amusement instead. A smile twitches at the crease of my lips.

"Of course."

Gelda happily hops to her feet off the sofa, and makes her way to my wardrobe. almost bouncing as she walks.

Although my rules of privacy have become much less stringent in three and a half years of (originally unwanted) goblin companionship, I still prefer to undress alone. I walk into my small bathroom and to change into the chosen clothes. Gelda has a remarkable talent for choosing unexpectedly good combinations of clothing.

When I exit the bathroom, I find shoes in awaiting me and slip them on before sitting on the sofa. Gelda quickly joins me and sets to works on my hair. I close my eyes as she works her figurative (or perhaps literal) magic on my hair.

I open my eyes as I feel something land in my lap. It is my large, handheld mirror. Gelda has finished her work on my hair and another goblin, apparently the bearer of the mirror, stands before me. I accept the mirror by picking it up and maneuver it to see what I can of my hairstyle.

Satisfied, I rise and glance at the clock. It is much earlier than I original intended to leave, but I decide to go early.

"I am going to Toby's home today," I announce, since I am sure most of the goblins have forgotten.

A few of them perk up as they listen.

"His parents will be leaving."

A few more perk up.

"I will not try to stop you from joining us if you want to, but I must remind you that you are _not_ to show yourself until Dad and Mom are gone!"

Reluctantly, they nod their heads in obedience. My father and stepmother—whom I have more recently begun to call "Mom"—have more than once been the victim of the goblin's mischief, but I do my best to keep that to a minimum.

Grabbing my essentials, I open the door, call Merlin, and we pass the threshold. I glance at the goblins that are thinning in number as they disappear behind pieces of furniture, close and lock the door, and we make our way to my car.

The journey is not long; I live in the same apartment I moved into at the age of sixteen years old, when my parents wanted me nearby. I moved away at sixteen only because it was too difficult to juggle their reality and mine.

When we arrive before the door of my father's house, I do not bother knocking. I test the doorknob and find it unlocked, though I am not yet expected. As I open it, silence (a rare treat) greets me.

I strain my hearing and detect a low noise from the family room. It seems my parents are watching a movie in the dark silence. Toby and Freddy must be having a late naptime, then.

Not wanting to disturb my parents' rare quiet time, I signal for Merlin to accompany me and quietly sneak upstairs to the children's room.

I hear muffled noises and know that Toby, at least, is awake. It is not unexpected. The child has not taken regular naps since he was about one and a half years old. His sister Freddy, as far as I know, is still napping at least once a day though she is approximately the age Toby was when he gave up napping for secretly playing with the goblins. Of course, my father and stepmother know nothing of this and assume they nap like obedient and growing children should.

I open the door without knocking. Freddy is in her crib, asleep, using her favorite goblin—who is unusually small, soft, and friendly—as a pillow. I laugh, wondering when that arrangement started. Toby is awake and playing mischievously with goblins on the floor. I shake my head at them and roll my eyes, but I am not actually disappointed. For a moment I wonder if I have become desensitized.

The goblins and Toby glance up at me as the door clicks closed and pause in the middle of their likely nonsensical dice game. My four-year-old (four _and a half_ if Toby is listening) half-brother jumps up and runs to me, hugging my legs before reaching up in a gesture, obviously asking to be held. I smile and obligingly bend to pick him up. My half-sister Freddy is stirring in her crib, apparently disturbed by the sudden commotion. The goblins have scattered around the room, and some have already disappeared.

I walk to the now awake, and now unaccompanied, Freddy. She has risen in her crib and is attempting to climb out. Knowing she will be successful in a moment, I pick her up awkwardly with one arm and sit her on my other hip. With one child on each side of me, I walk toward the door and bend forward so Toby can turn the knob for me. I walk in silence, and the children in my arms and Merlin behind us emulate my quietness.

My stepmother pulls me into a hug. "Sarah. You came early."

Her eyes sparkle as she pulls away and looks at me with her hands still on my shoulders.

I give her a half smile. "Yes, I did. I finished early today so I thought 'why not?'."

I know she is excited, because she is always trying to get me to stay longer or come earlier. She convinced me to arrive today, Friday, babysit my half-siblings, stay the night, and spend all day tomorrow with them. Of course I know she intends to convince me to spend another night and join them in their Sunday activities as well, and I will let her.

"Well, we need to ready ourselves for the evening. I see you got the children from their nap."

Looking at the hall clock, I step out of their way and watch them disappear up the stairs. I wait until I hear their door shut and bend down to Toby, still at my feet. "Well, since we have the time, let us have dinner early."

Toby nods enthusiastically and follows me into the kitchen. I heard Freddy and Merlin follow as I began to scour the refrigerator. After rummaging through the kitchen to ascertain all our possible assets, Toby and I (and occasionally the eighteen-month-old Freddy) debate what to make for dinner. We decide on pasta and cheese sauce, which I can prepare rather quickly. I have Toby help with what he can as I absentmindedly hum over my own tasks. I even have Freddy help a few times, but mostly she dances around the kitchen with Merlin.

As the children finish their dinner, I hear footsteps and look up to see our parents, ready for their date.

"I see you already have dinner ready, Sarah," my father comments as he bends down to say goodbye to Toby.

"You know everything you need to, Sarah; no need to give you the typical 'babysitter talk,'" Dad laughs before turning to the children and admonishing them to behave.

I snicker as I pat Freddy's head and pull Toby against me. "Don't worry; we'll throw a _huge_ party while you are away."

Toby agrees with an enthusiastic "Yeah!" as my father chuckles, believing—as he should—that I am jesting.

I listen to them drive away and note that a few goblins have already crossed into the house.

Toby is dragging a few goblins toward his toy chest in the other room and a goblin the same height as Freddy has obtained a pile of her clothes and is proceeding to dress her and himself in mismatched outfits. I laugh at the sight, but Freddy enjoys it. Merlin is sitting quietly and expectantly.

I walk to the hall mirror and touch the surface almost absentmindedly while my tired eyes are momentarily unfocused. Calling my mind to functionality once again, I drop my hand to my side, and summon "Hoggle, Sir Didymus, Ludo—I need you." I see them (Sir Didymus on Ambrosius) appear in the mirror and I smile. Turning around, I find them in my physical presence.

Enthusiastic as a young schoolgirl, I give each of them hugs between greetings. "It has been too long, my lady." "Good to see you, Sarah." "Sarah—hi." "Thank you for coming; I know it has been a couple months since I was last home. It was a difficult last term at university. But now I am done for the summer!"

The familiar chaos envelopes me as the goblins play mindlessly with the children, my three friends begin an impossible game of Scrabble, and Ambrosius and Merlin disappear through the dog door to play in the back yard. It is the first time in a long time that we have had such a large gathering, so I sit back in a deep, comfortable armchair and enjoy the show with a genuine smile on my lips.

Gelda leans on the back of the chair and crosses her arms atop it as I observe the chaos with fondness. I feel inexplicably comfortable enveloped in it. I enjoy the company of my parents, coworkers, and my friends from high school and university, but I still enjoy this best.

The goblins play with Toby and Freddy until the toddlers fall asleep in odd positions on the floor. When the children are no longer responsive, their companions join the rest of their kind in the usual mischief against each other. I take Freddy to her crib first, remembering to change her diaper and call on her Pillow, and then return for Toby. He wakes as I carry him and protests going to bed.

"It's not fair, Sarah. _You_ get to stay up!" he says emphatically through his sleepiness.

"No, it's not fair, but that's just how it is," I smile.

The four-year-old attempts a glare at my oft-repeated reply before settling into my arms, defeated.


	2. Birthday Busyness

I do not own the Labyrinth universe and give full credit to those who do, even though I wish I was The Real McCoy and could plan a heist to take it right out of the hands of George Lucas and Jim Henson. I _promise_ I will give you bottles of milk in exchange, Jim. And I'd give you Star Wars back, George, but you lost your rights to it when you let them make episodes one through three, and then sold six through nine to Disney. Really, George, they were _so_ much better when you told the stories to my aunt when you dated her in high school. Where did I go wrong to deserve this? Seriously, George, you actually fell behind Uncle Mark Harmon in the running for favorite. How could you do that!?

Please visit my blog to read my original work! The link is on my profile. Reviews are appreciated, whether noting needed edits or other concerns, compliments, life-giving humor, or hate mail. Please follow and favor!

Chapter Two

Birthday Busyness

As I return downstairs, I glanced at the clock. Sighing, I debate whether or not to retire early. The chaos is lessened now that a majority of the goblins have left or snuck into the children's room to sleep with Freddy and Toby. My friends have given up playing board games and now sit on the floor with the television on in the background, volume low. Merlin has retired to his large cushion by the back door, with Ambrosius lazed beside him on the cold tile. The few goblins remaining play tricks on each other and mess with a chicken.

"Get that out of here." I enunciate each word carefully, trying to control my frustration.

The goblins freeze. I lost long ago of how many times I told them not to bring chickens are other creatures with them from the otherworld.

They all scramble behind furniture and into dark corners, one of them with the chicken. The silence following indicates their departure. I sigh, surveying the mess. Ludo would be no help cleaning up, and I cannot imagine Sir Didymus stooping so slow as to do _pages'_ work. The remaining goblins might help a little, but I know it will not be worth much.

I walk over to my friends and tell them "I am ready to retire for the evening."

Sir Didymus jumps up. "Of course, my lady. We shall depart promptly." With flourish, he rises on his toes and grasps my hand, placing a kiss in the air above my knuckles. He nods to his companions ("Sir Ludo, Sir Hoggle") and after they return his farewell ("Didymus," "Bye") departs through the wide doorway as Ludo rises laboriously. I hear Ambrosius pad toward the front hall. "Sarah—bye" Ludo says before fading from view.

Hoggle hesitates and looks around. "Do you need help, Sarah?"

Of course I need help, but I feel reluctant to ask. "At least put away the game for me, Hoggle. I think I can manage the rest on my own." 'Lies do not become us,' I think ruefully.

He looks at me doubtfully, but nods. Delaying the task before me, I plop unladylike onto the couch and let my mind wander.

I had not originally tolerated the goblins, or their mess. I had not initially allowed Toby to be exposed to the otherworldly reality, either. When it became clear—about a year after his visit to the Castle—that he had somehow retained memory of his time in the Labyrinth despite being only a year old at the time I did my best to persuade him it was a dream or imagining or just a story I told him, but his certainty of its reality was just as strong as mine.

Though I gradually allowed the goblins into my life, and eventually, though reluctantly, stopped preventing them from exposing themselves to Toby, I still kept Freddy away from the chaos until rather recently. It soon proved too impractical, however, so even Freddy was pulled into our in-between world.

Reluctantly, I rise from the comfort of the couch and survey the room. I begin to tidy up and remove the vacuum cleaner from the closet as I pass. Returning to the scene of the largest mess, I let out another of my frequent sighs. I cannot tell the difference yet although I have been working for a while now.

"I wish it was clean already!"

My hands fly to my mouth. My eyes understandably closed tight and lips pursed, I hesitate even to breathe. The words were spoken carelessly, brought on by reveling too long in this in-between world, my barriers weakened by my presence in this house.

I reach out my senses, as if I can, without sight, determine whether or not my wish was granted. I smell nothing, but I am unsure if the company left a smell behind in the first place. I feel, more than hear, a distantly familiar humming, and my skin prickles. Slowly, I open one eye, knowing I cannot delay the inevitable.

Everything is clean and tidy.

What is done, is done. I sigh, and check the remainder of the house. Merlin is sleeping on his bed as if nothing unnatural occurred. Satisfied that the house is in order and the last remnant of humming has faded away, I retire to my bedroom.

It is entirely different than it was in my early teenage years. Even the wallpaper is different. The walls are bare, even of the shelves that once hung on them. The books, stuffed animals, and figurines are hidden away somewhere in the attic (my stepmother insisted on keeping them) along with the scrapbook of my mother's (and Jeremy's) exploits after she left us for semi-stardom, and probably my old quilt and canopy. A wide bed with crisp white bedding and two pillows has replaced my old bed, but my other furniture has remained, though they are now uncluttered, except for an expanse of white cloth over my vanity mirror, in place for propriety's sake should one of my friends initiate contact rather than waiting for me to call. It is a rarity, but it happened before, and I do not want to imagine Sir Didymus's reaction should he have timing bad enough to see me dressed less than appropriately.

I give one final sigh for the night and fall onto my bed. I roll over to the backpack I placed there before checking in on Toby and Freddy and pull out a book. I am unaccustomed to having no schoolwork, so I feel odd reading a fictional book for entertainment rather than working tirelessly toward my degree.

By attending summer classes and taking a heavy course load during the regular school year, I had managed to graduate in three years instead of four. Since I had found a program that allowed me to attend college beginning in high school, that meant that I was now only one year past my high school graduation but had obtained my four-year degree already. It was a great success, and I had to admit it would not have been possible without the realizations that I was actually rather intelligent, I needed to stop daydreaming, and that life was—rather than unfair—whatever I made of it.

The problem is that working tirelessly toward my degree and filling up my free hours with part-time and seasonal jobs and the occasional visit with my otherworldly friends did not lend itself toward a very successful social life or help me decide what to do now that all that is accomplished. I have my expenses paid for by Dad, even now (he insists), and my schooling was paid through the program and scholarships. I have been saving all my money in order to pay Dad back, and I am waiting for the time when I believe he will accept it. Since the apartment is so cheap, and I used my lighter summer course load and school breaks to take on extra hours at work, I have already saved enough to pay him back. Now I just have to wait until he will accept it. I have tentatively applied for teaching positions, since I seem to have an affinity for children (or small unlearned creatures), but I have not obtained any formal training or certification yet. I suppose that will be my next move.

What do eighteen (almost nineteen) year old girls pursue? Or what do university graduates pursue? I suppose a job of any kind, enjoyable or not, is on the list once school is completed, at the latest, and romance is probably a prevalent addition, at least for women. Perhaps marriage and family, or touring the world.

None of it draws me, though. I mostly enjoy my job. I will keep it until I obtain another along my path toward a career. It is not as if I do not think of romance, but until I recover from my current infatuation, no human man is likely to catch my eye, and I am not sure I would give up the companionship of my friends and goblins for that of a man. I suppose love does funny things, though, so who knows? I cannot imagine it now, though. I cannot imagine loving anyone else, let alone giving up my world for him. I am mostly happy now, despite a certain lack of goals for my life.

Touring the world holds a slight appeal. I do almost enjoy the idea of exploring. I have continued saving my money beyond what I need to repay Dad, so maybe I will have enough to backpack Europe or something. Of course, Toby and Freddy would be upset about my absence, and I am unsure if I can trust the goblins with them if I am absent for longer than a couple of months. How long would I stay away? Forever almost sounds good. I guess the adventurer in me did not die.

Idly, I wonder how long it would take me to explore the extent of the Labyrinth, but I find myself smacking my forehead. Stubbornly, I open the historical fiction I borrowed from the library and let myself focus solely on the characters' world. I only glance up when my stepmother peaks in to say good night. I look at the clock. It is a few minutes past one. She does not admonish me to go to sleep.

%%%

I wake to Toby jumping onto by bed, and feel a tug on my hand that lets me know Freddy is awake and wants up on the bed, too. Grateful that the memory of my dreams disappeared with the rude awakening, I grasp Freddy's hands and pull her up. Opening my eyes to the bright sunlight streaming through the doorway, I see my brother and sister wrestling beside me on the bed.

I smile at them, and feel the warmth from the depth of my heart. They pause to look at me a moment before flinging themselves onto my simultaneously.

"Happy birthday, Sarah!" Toby shouts a little too loudly in my ear.

My birthday is not until Monday—we are just celebrating today, Saturday—but that is not important. "Thank you, Sir Tobias," I tease, referring to him as Sir Didymus does, "or is it 'prince' today?"

Toby giggles and I smile for a moment. The acknowledgement of my in-between existence is bringing back the memories of my dreams, however, and the smile quickly leaves my face, replaced by a look of horror.

Freddy has slid from the bed and exited the room, presumably to coax my stepmother into making breakfast, but Toby remains, and he notices the change in my demeanor.

"Sarah?" he inquires in his child accent.

I shake my head, trying to rid it of the images.

"It's nothing, precious thing," I say absently. "I just remembered a dream."

"Dream? But you look—sad."

I look down at him. "Sad" is so simple an expression that I almost laugh.

"Aren't dreams good?"

"Not all dreams."

"So—nightmares, then?"

"No!" I am surprised at the fervent tone of my own voice. "No." I correct myself by saying it softer this time. "They are not nightmares, but nor are they all dreams. Sometimes they are the kind of dreams that are happy to the sleeping mind but sad to the waking mind."

Toby looks at me uncomprehendingly. Of course he cannot understand. I try to think of something that is good at first and scary later, but only scenarios of the reverse circumstances occur to me.

I have a sudden thought. "Remember when your time in the… Castle was just a memory? And you had not told me about it yet, and you had not met my friends, or had the goblins visit?"

Toby nods, so I continue. "You remembered that time fondly; it was like a good dream."

His eyes slowly widen with dawning realization. I pause perhaps a moment too long, fascinated by the intelligence of children, especially Toby who seems to have a greater understanding in some areas that others his age.

"When you first met my friends, and later the goblins, it was scary, right? Even though you thought it was a good dream, later when you experienced it again, it was scary, and then you were sad that you could not go with them."

"Yes," Toby admitted quietly.

"Well, that is how some of my dreams are. They feel good when I am dreaming, but sad when I think of them when I am awake."

It was a rather simplified explanation, but Toby sought understanding and so I gave him what I could.

"But, Sarah?"

"Yes, Toby?" I look at him as I slip from the covers.

He is silent for a moment, as I rummage for clothes. I look over at him after triumphantly finding something to wear. He appears to have had a brilliant idea. His face is lit up in excitement and he bounces a little in his sitting position on my bed.

"Yes, Toby?" I say a little louder.

He looks at me without his excitement fading. "But you'll be happy again!" With that simple declaration, he scoots off the bed and hugs my legs.

I tilt my head at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not scared or sad anymore. I love Hoggle and Didee-mus and Ludo, and Ga, and Ja, and Va, and Za, and even Pillow! So even if your good dreams turn scary or sad for a little bit, soon they won't be anymore! You'll love them!"

"Sarah! Toby!" my stepmother's voice rang up the stairs.

Grateful for the distraction, I send Toby downstairs so I can dress and join them.

I smell the telltale sign of my favorite breakfast as I enter the kitchen and sneak behind my stepmother to help without her noticing.

"Sarah!" she chastises me. She does not have to elaborate. I know she means for me to be spoiled on this my "special day," even if it is only a substitute for the real day.

I giggle uncharacteristically and pick up Toby to put him in his chair. Freddy is already in hers and I hear Dad walking down the stairs. He enters with a surprise—my older brother Robert Jr.

"Robby!" I jump up to suffocate him in a hug and we exchange the usual pleasantries before breakfast distracts us. Robby is eight years older, and therefore was an adult when our mother left. At that time he moved halfway across the country to make a life for himself, so I see him rarely.

We give a prayer of gratitude before beginning. Crepes and waffles are in the making on the kitchen counter so we can have them hot and fresh. I grab a peach as an appetizer and relish in bittersweet memories as I observe my happy little.

Afterward, Robby and I let Toby coax us into a round of childish card and board games. When the rain subsides, the six of us venture to the nearby park, taking the vehicle rather than walking as I used to do. I chase Toby and Freddy and then pretend to run away from them. We climb trees, I scare them from behind statues, trees, and bushes, and we laze in the grass watching the sky. The afternoon is almost spent and Dad announces "It is time to go home."

My brothers, sister, and I grumble, but we reluctantly rise from the grass and head to the car. Cake awaits us at home, along with other baked sweets.

"Mom, you had too much fun," I chide as I view the cookies, brownies, sweet bread, and fruit tarts surrounding the cake.

We let Toby and Freddy eat their fill, along with a generous amount of milk, but my parents, older brother, and I moderate our consumption. After a while of enjoying each other's food-induced silence, there is a knock on the door. Dad looks at his watch, surprised.

Soon, Toby and Freddy hanging on their second-favorite babysitter.

I kneel down in front of Toby. "Toby, no parties without me."

Dad chuckles, but Toby nods his understanding. I am not sure if he can call the goblins, but if they come to him unbidden he can at least tell them to go away. I already warned them that although my parents would not be home, a stranger _would_ be: so they had better stay hidden. I cannot stop them from spying on him, of course, and I would not, since they report to me.

Dinner is uneventful but delicious.

%%%

My dreams are strong. As usual, I sink first into the memory of dancing. My dress is gaudy. People sneer at me, make fun of me, and the men eye me lecherously. One even sneaks near enough to give me an unwanted compliment. I am searching for something, but I cannot remember what. Then an option presents itself: Jareth. He is familiar. That must be what I am looking for. I pursue him in an unfair game of hide-and-seek. Unexpectedly he is before me. Even less expected: he pulls me into the dance. Mesmerized, I follow his lead. The guest are still laughing at me. They mock my innocence. Something is not right. This is not what I am looking for. The clock strikes twelve. I must find it! I must find what I am looking for. I must get away from these sneering guests and this man who tries to force a kiss on me.

The world shatters around me and I drift into another dream. Like always, my dreams following the dance take me through other memories of the Labyrinth, sometimes punctuated by snippets of memories from the last three and a half years: goblins, friends, odd occurrences. After my life flashes before my eyes, so to speak, my dreams drift into the more expected realm of fantasy. I am not privileged to have the usual fantasies and nightmares of humanity, though. All my dreams center on the Labyrinth and the creatures within. Inevitably Jareth will make an appearance.

%%%

As predicted, I spend all day Sunday with my family. We eat a simple breakfast before attending church, and enjoy the semi chaotic company for the afternoon.

"Alice expects to kidnap me early tomorrow, so it is best that I go back tonight instead of early tomorrow." I turn to my parents. "Do you mind if I leave Merlin here? I am sorry I did not ask earlier."

They exchange looks before glancing upward, approximately toward the toddlers' room.

Dad answers. "I expect we can manage that. The little ones will enjoy having him near and your mother can walk him while I am at work. If that is alright, dear?" He turns to his wife.

She almost reluctantly nods her head. I know she does not care much for Merlin, but she does care for me. "Two weeks, right? I can manage that."

I smile and envelop her in a rare embrace, partially in thanks, and partially in apology. They think I am actually going on vacation (to California). I cannot tell them Doctor Wheeley forced me to take the time off, nor can I tell them I plan on lazing around my studio for two.

%%%

I wake Monday morning to a pleasantly quiet flat. My bed squeaks as I shift to the edge and Glenda stirs in her sleep. I shake my head in exasperation. She is sleeping on the sofa again.

As quietly as I can manage, I put my foldaway bed into its daytime position, clearing some floor space. I take a shower, and by the time I am done, I smell breakfast in the making and quickly throw on a robe and twist my hair into a towel (quite a feat considering how long my hair is, but I have it down to a science).

I step out of the bathroom to the familiar sight of Glenda preparing breakfast in my kitchenette.

"Good morning, Lady Sarah." She pauses, once again concentrating on recalling the human words. "Happy birthday, milady."

I nod and smile in return. I do not allow the other goblins to cook, but Glenda is of a higher caliber, so I allow her to do everything. I notice she has changed her clothes into another simple dress that reminds me of a child's sundress, and she wears one of my aprons. Since her height reaches only my shoulder, the apron is almost too large for her. She has her dark hair tied back—a rarity—as I instructed her to do while cooking.

Glenda insists on choosing my clothes again, and fashions my hair with practiced hands.

Her timing is perfect. A knock sounds on the door. Glenda bows swiftly and disappears into the darkness behind the bathroom door. I answer the front door and find what I expect: Alice. I give her a good morning smile, grab my purse, and lock the door behind us.

I have known Alice since we were freshman in high school. Although we did not at first keep each other company except at school and the occasional birthday party, she is as close to a friend as I have among humanity.

She drives us to the mall. The long walkway connecting the stores is open, but the stores themselves are still closed for another few minutes. We walk and make idle chit chat as we venture closer to Alice's favorite store, in which we will spend at least an hour and I will be forced to make at least one purchase.

Eight hours, a plethora of Alice's latest gossip, one unhealthy lunch, one skirt, one pair of shoes, and one sappy romance movie later, we exit the mall.

Alice drags me back to her car and drives to her flat. Her husband Marshall is on the family room floor with their ten-month-old son Davey, playing with silly toys. He looks up upon our arrival and nods hello. Marshall took the day off from work to babysit so Alice could treat her friend—me—to a fun-filled birthday.

"Hi, Marshall, Davey," I to his nodded greeting before letting Alice drag me to their bedroom.

Boxes, bags, and two dress bags cover their bed.

When Alice is done with me, I stare in the mirror. I have an off-white half-mask sitting on my forehead just waiting to be pulled down, the ribbon tied beneath the intricate bun she twisted into my hair. My dress is a shimmering green with a wide neckline, high waist, half-length sleeves, and a hemline just above my knee. Black leggings replace the usual hose and are tucked into gray suede knee-high boots—the same material of the half-palm gloves that replace my usual dark leather.

Alice dresses herself and we wave goodbye to Marshall, who is readying Davey for bed, and leave their flat. Alice drives us to the unknown—to me—venue. I am a little apprehensive about my reaction. I have never been to a masquerade in the human world. It sounds fun, but I hope it does not bring back memories I would rather recall privately.

As we arrive, Alice instructs me to pull down my mask and I oblige with a carefully contained sigh. The valets open our doors and we exit the vehicle, Alice pulling down her mask and handing her keys over in exchange for ticket 0169.

She pulls me inside. The room is expansive, lit by several grand crystal chandeliers and dim faux candlelight hanging from numerous sconces. Hundreds of richly dressed, and masked, people adorn the room, dancing, partaking of the buffet, sitting on luxurious couches, talking, laughing. I push down the automatic fear in my heart and throw myself into the festivities, pulling Alice along.

We do not talk to each other much, but we chat with many of the masked men, accept dances, and eat a bit from the buffet in an attempt to make up for our missed supper. At eleven o'clock I realize that I am growing uneasy for some reason and set about coaxing Alice to leave. It takes a while for me to succeed, but eventually we are exiting her car for her flat. She offered to take me home initially, but since I do not commonly wear makeup I do not have any remover at my flat and need hers.

We enter the apartment to a crying Davey and exhausted Marshall. I laugh as Alice relieves Marshall of baby duty and takes the pajama-clad infant back to his nursery. Marshall exhales heavily and smiles at me.

"How was the party."

"Fun." I actually did enjoy myself.

"Good. I hope this was worth it."

I laugh. "You are too generous, Marshall." I bend down and kiss him platonically on the forehead. "If Alice hadn't snatched you up, I might have pulled you into _my_ crazy life," I say with a twinkle in my eye, though we both know it is untrue.

Davey is still crying in the background as Marshall settles more comfortably into the couch and turns on the television. I pace as I wait for Alice, knowing better than to raid her bathroom without her permission.


	3. Deja Vu

To all my readers and followers and favoriters: Welcome! I smother you with kiss attacks! If you have ESP, I'm sending you some mental brownies :) It really is addicting! Not the brownies… the readers. Please review, follow, and favorite if you haven't yet!

As always, I do not own Labyrinth or any publicly recognizable content (including other 80s movie quotes/references)… such a shame. I don't think I'm going to keep repeating this, so this disclaimer applies to all future chapters, too (it would anyway…)

Reviews are love! I need dopamine! Follows and favorites are love, too. The gooey kind ;)

Chapter Three

Day One: Déjà vu

Marshall has the television volume loud enough to drown out little Davey's crying, which is probably intentional. I roll my eyes, but concede that he has had a long day of caring for the ten-month-old by himself. The noise hurts my ears, still tender from the volume of the music at the party Alice coerced me to earlier.

I find my way to the flat's kitchen, which is not far enough, but it—unusually—has a door, so the noise is dampened a little. I sit at the small breakfast table shoved against the wall and smile at the day's mess.

11:40, I read the digital clock on my cell phone. I had planned on being home by now, snuggled into a plethora of pillows and blankets on my couch, the goblins shooed away if necessary. I enjoyed celebrating the exact moment of my birthday alone, and with a rare wish.

Truth be told, I avoid using the word "wish" most of the time, and it rings in my ears whenever I hear it from another's lips. I know words hold more power than humans give them credit for, and I do not need thoughtless wishes coming true all around me. The outcome of wishes are not necessarily as intended, and getting one's head out of the clouds and working for one's goals is certainly far more effective. In any case, I must concede that those words also remind me too much of _him_.

11:41. Despite my usual aversion to wishes, I do make one on my birthdays. I had done so out of habit on my sixteenth birthday. I immediately, though silently, chastised myself, but since the aversion to the word "wish" is my own invented symptom of my experiences, I did not dwell on it.

Some days later, my wish was fulfilled. It was not a trivial or fanciful wish. I left my dreams and most of my imagination in the ruins of the Castle. I had discovered that I was rather smart, and in applying myself academically in the preceding months, found that school was rather boring, for lack of intellectual challenge rather than for lack of fantastical excitement. My habitually made wish had been for academic challenge. A school official called to offer me a position in their school-university cooperation program.

11:42. I had made similarly sensible wished on my seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays, unable to resist the temptation. Now, though, I do not know what to wish for. I have completed my goals and have yet to find suitable replacements. I am lost. Making wishes when lost is not a good idea. I cannot risk asking for something I will regret. I will not even open my mouth, for fear that my darkest thoughts will roll past my tongue. No, I cannot wish for myself this year.

But maybe I can wish for someone else. Of course, I do not know what others truly want, or would benefit from. I cannot know the full extent of another's thoughts and circumstances, after all.

I wonder if I can grant someone else a wish, rather than making a wish for her?

11:43. I am nineteen.

"I wish for Alice to have a wish." The words come unbidden to my mouth, along with a smile. I almost feel them within me. Though I had no conscious thought of them, somehow they are from my very soul.

Quickly, I erase the smile from my face and clamp a hand over my mouth. I had not intended to say that, especially not aloud, at least not without more thought about the potential consequences. How careless of me. I smile, not really feeling guilty.

What is done, is done, I remind myself and close my eyes as I lower my hand, relax my face, and revel in meditation for the remainder of one minute.

11:44. Woes forgotten, I exit the kitchen and note that, despite the loud volume of the television, Marshall has fallen asleep on the couch. I give him a half smile and walk over to the television to turn it off, remembered to decrease the volume before I do so it will not burst their eardrums when they turn it on again.

I wait for Alice to emerge from the nursery so she can drive me home, but I feel strangely drawn to check on her.

I shake my head of the odd feeling and replace it with rational argument. The busses do not run so late at night, and I dislike staying away from home past midnight. If she needs any help, I will give it to her, so I can get home and she can go to bed.

Slowly, I walk down the short hallway and pause in front of the nursery door. I feel an odd sense of foreboding. I cannot stand it and so I hurriedly open the door, perhaps too loudly.

Alice is on the floor.

She looks like a wilted flower or a crumpled piece of paper, discarded on the ground as refuse. I rush to her, my mind immediately consumed with the compassion ingrained in me.

"Alice. Alice, what's wrong? Alice!"

She looks up at me slowly and I see tearstains on her cheeks. Her body is shuddering with silent sobbing. She reaches out and throws her arms around me, awkwardly changing position to lean into me. I feel her body heave and her sobbing progresses into audible cries.

I hold her for what feels like a long time before venturing to speak again. "Alice, what happened?"

She looks up at me with miserable eyes. "Davey."

My heart jumps in my chest and I automatically swivel my head to look at Davey's crib. He is not there. I look around, my heart sinking, but I do not see Davey.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I intone carefully, pushing Alice away from me and holding her by the shoulders, trying to gain eye contact.

She looks down, but speaks. "I don't know. One minute I was trying to calm him down, and then he was gone. Just—gone." She returns to sobbing for a moment, but my strangely steady hands seem to keep her anchored to reality just enough. Shortly, she continues. "The last things he heard from his mother were complaints about his behavior." She pauses to let out a sob. "He is only ten months old. He is teething." Sob. "He is only doing what he knows how; he isn't _bad_."

A chill runs down my spine at the familiar sentiment (though my own feelings at losing Toby included the guilt that he was not mine to lose), and my mind finally comprehends the idea I have been trying to push away. "Alice, what exactly did you _say_?"

She looks up at me, apparently confused by my question. She stares at me for a moment and then looks away. I can tell she is thinking. I startle a little as I hear her draw in breath sharply. "No! That is not possible." Her eyes are wide as they meet mine. "I wish the goblins would come and take you away, right now."

The breath I did not realize I was holding is released forcefully as I fall forward. I catch myself with my hands, but I am dizzy and hyperventilating. Alice's concern is momentarily transferred to me "Sarah?" but she returns to her previous train of thought.

"But those are just words from that old story you once read to me—well, started to read to me; I wasn't one for fairytales at that age."

I look up at Alice. "You have to get him."

"What?"

"You have to go get Davey."

"Where is he?"

"With—with the goblins." And _him_.

"Goblins?" Alice looks at me, clearly disbelieving. "Sarah, this is no time for jokes," she reprimands.

I am simultaneously outraged and understanding that she does not believe me. She has no time to waste, but she is also a human whose reality has just been shattered.

I stand up with renewed vigor and pull her up, too. With a sudden realization, I look around. Jarethis not here. Good. Or bad. How can she save Davey?

How _can_ she save Davey?

I look at Alice. She does not comprehend the alternate reality at all. She is a mess, mentally. It is understandable considering her child has just disappeared. Even if she can get to the otherworld, I doubt she can get to the center of the Labyrinth. I had managed to return Toby by unexpected willpower and I assume a large amount of luck, and probably some other unknown factor, even though I did not fulfill the requirement of solving the Labyrinth. As _he _had pointed out, getting to the center is different from solving its riddles.

Alice will most definitely fail in this state, even if all she has to do is reach the center. But she has to return Davey; I cannot stand by with the knowledge I have and not do everything I can to help her get Davey back.

"Alice, we're going," I announce and pull her to the window, hoping to see the Labyrinth in the distance when I open the curtains.

I breathe a sigh of diametrically opposed relief and regret as the distantly familiar sight greets my eyes. Alice gasps.

I long to go there. I have avoided it for fear of Jareth's wrath, but the Labyrinth has managed—despite my short escapade of less than ten Labyrinthian hours, considering Jareth's manipulation of time—to wedge a place into my heart as my unlikely home. I exult for a moment in the realization that I have an excuse to go; I _need_ to go.

The feeling is short lived as I realize that, despite my longing, I will need to escape quickly and I do not know how. Even if I manage to lead Alice to the center, even if I manage to make her take Davey back, there may be no way for me—who is not the wisher—to return. Is it really worth it?

My self-preservation mechanisms scream for me to step back, to look away, anything to get out of the situation, anything to get away from Jareth's wrath. The temptation to leave Davey is as strong as was the temptation to leave Toby. I was then offered my dreams. Dreams that no one knew about, that no one cared about, were offered to me by the one person who for some reason understood them and could give them to me. That temptation was so strong. But the plight of others was more important than my own. How could I have done that to Toby and to Dad and Mom? I could not have, and so I decided to save him despite my desires and despite my trials.

It is the same now. The temptation is not to have my dreams, but to run away from my nightmare. And yet I feel drawn to return. The Labyrinth calls me and I determine to go. After all, how could I live with myself, know there was something I could do for Alice and her family, but I did not? I could not live with myself.

I will find a way. I _will_ get Alice to the center. I _will _find a way for them to return. And for my own sake, I will find a way for _me_ to return.

"Come on, Alice," I say and pull her toward the window.

Before I reach it, the nursery melts around us and is replaced by the scrubby hilltop overlooking the Labyrinth. It is lit by the sunlight of late morning rather than the twilight in which I first saw it bathed. I turn to check on Alice. She is in a state of mental paralysis. I glance around, allowing myself to question Jareth's absence for a moment, but push the thought away. I can do without the formalities. I can especially do without his anger, or disappointment, or frustration, or whatever it is. We do not have much time. The familiar clock hangs in the tree, unbidden, telling me we have just shy of thirteen hours. For a moment I let myself wonder whether an hour here is sixty minutes long or sixty-five.

The draw from the Labyrinth wakes me from my wondering, and without letting go of Alice's hand, I lead us down the hill and toward the unkempt gardens in front of the Labyrinth's outer wall, where the nasty fairies flutter their tattered wings with oxymoronic sparkle. I look around for Hoggle, my stomach filling with butterflies as I wonder about his reaction. Hoggle stringently obeys our unspoken agreement to keep silent about Jareth. After all, Jareth is nothing but an ass and a rat in Hoggle's eyes. I could never speak to Hoggle about the conflicts and temptations of it all, but surely Hoggle understands the half of my feelings consumed with negative emotions. He would not understand me facing this trial again, especially not for the sake of another.

Hoggle is nowhere to be found, though. I look carefully at the outer wall, wondering if I can catch a glimpse of the illusive door as we walk closer. Suddenly a short blur passes in front of me, circles us, and stops between us and the wall.

Sir Didymus stands before us. I feel my eyebrows rise in surprise and hear Alice give a small gasp. He stands defiantly, not quite looking at us.

"S—Sarah, what _is_ that?"

At Alice's question, Sir Didymus jerks his head to look at me more closely. "Lady Sarah!"

I feel Alice cock her head sharply. She is still unable to comprehend her environment, so I am not about to try to explain my familiarity with Sir Didymus.

"Lady Sarah," he repeats with more dignity and a deep bow, "what may I assist you with?"

"Where's Hoggle?" I ask, ignoring Alice's confusion.

"Sir Hoggle, my lady? He is most likely in his palace."

"Palace? But he hates J—why would he be in the castle?"

"Not the castle in Goblin City, milady, but the palace of the Land of Stench, where Sir Hoggle is prince."

I quirk an eyebrow and file that information away for later. "Who is the gate- and grounds-keeper now then?"

"_I_ am the new gatekeeper, fair maiden," he announces with fervor.

I smile despite the retched circumstances. "That is good news. You can let us in!"

Sir Didymus fidgets and I knit my eyebrows together. "You do know how to let us in, don't you?"

Too long a moment passes before Sir Didymus finally speaks. "No, my lady; though half of seven years have passed since first I held this postion, none have sought entry."

"No one," I inquire, "but what of the others who wish children away?"

"My lady? The goblins take children very rarely. Sir Tobias was the first in many decades, if not a century or more. And for the centuries preceding, children were wished away or stolen of the goblin's own accord with declining frequency."

I stare at him, incredulous, but there is no time for thought. I file it away with the rest of my questions and discoveries for later pondering.

"Well." I step forward and Sir Didymus moves beside me. Determined never to release Alice's hand for fear of losing her, I pull her along as I approach the wall. "Last time, I just had to ask Hoggle and it appeared as he answered and gestured." Though I heard the hum of Jareth's magic upon its appearance, "Perhaps we can do the same now."

I turn to Sir Didymus. "Where is the gate to the Labyrinth?" I ask, carefully framing my question. As Hoggle had pointed out, it is _not_ a door.

He looks at me, not knowing what to do, but I hear the familiar hum and look up. There stands the gate directly before my gaze. It is closed.

"Well, that much worked, but how do we open it?"

I take careful steps toward it, noticing that the music in the air is softer than I recall, and that rather than strengthening as expected it seems to quiet. Taking nothing for granted means I should see if it is unlocked, but I recall that it swings outward and so I am apprehensive to near it. I tentatively reach out, though I am not yet near it.

The grotesque gate opens as I raise my hand and I jump a little, startled.

"We might as well get going. No need to waste time in wonder."

I pull Alice along behind me as I approach the familiar dank darkness beyond the gate, grateful that the humming fades entirely rather than growing more ominous as it did last time. Sir Didymus follows, but I gesture for him to stay.

"My lady?"

"I fear the wrath that I invoke by helping Alice myself, I need not make distaste stronger by including another. Please stay at your post, Sir Didymus, as I have not this time taken it from you."

My attempt at lightheartedness results in what I assume is a smile from Sir Didymus (his inhuman face does make it rather difficult to tell, even though I have known him for years now) and he backs away and straightens into a still, upright position. Though they never spoke of it, I assume they were punished for helping me. If Hoggle has been sent to the Bog of Eternal Stench, it is most definitely a punishment, whether or not Sir Didymus speaks of the position of "prince" as if it were a generosity. Even if Hoggle had not been thrown into it, smelling it is punishment enough. It is not unlikely that Sir Didymus's appointment as gatekeeper is a punishment in itself, if there is nothing to do, as he implied. With how indifferentlyJareth threatening Hoggle with the Bog, certainly Sir Didymus occasionally had the company of those sent there by punishment, and yet here he has no hopes of seeing anyone. The wishers are apparently few and far between and even the groundskeeper is nowhere to be seen.

"I will manage, Sir Didymus. I was infrequently without the company of my then soon-to-be friends, but I learned from you all, so I should be able to lead Alice through myself if there is any hope of it at all."

He looks at me almost doubtfully, but nods. I never told him, or my other friends, the story of my journey through the Labyrinth, so even if they have told each other of their doings with me, they do not know my journey from the gates to the oubliette, or my dance with the fire gang, or the how I went from their company in the forest via the ballroom dream and Agnes to find them in the junk yard, or how my interactions with Jareth beyond the throne room.

Turning away from my friend with the pain of parting, I pull Alice into the damp gloom of the never-ending passage. I sigh and look to either side, considering. If I go right, I have the chance to use the knowledge obtained by my mistakes and successes. I am unsure whether or not I can find the same passage I used to exit the passageway, but I have a better chance, at least, if I go right.

With one of my too frequent sighs, I lead Alice to the right. I wonder if the eternity of the passage is just a deception. I cannot guarantee that I will find the worm again by which to judge where to cross out of the passage, and he said it was full of openings. Even if the length of the passage is illusionary, there are still too many choices. I hope the length _is_ deceiving and so it will not be so far until I reach the hole of that little creature.

As we walk, I silently beg my luck to grant me sight of the fuzzy blue worm in his bright red scarf. I look carefully at the wall and am surprised to see him quite immediately. He watches me but says nothing. Silently hoping that he is in the same location as before, I turn away and face the wall opposite him. Pulling the still bewildered Alice along, I step tentatively through the illusion hiding the exit and into the passage beyond. I turn right automatically, but pause.

'Don't go that way. Never go _that_ way,'I remember him saying.

Even if he was generous enough to aid me in finding the passage, certainly as a creature of the Labyrinth he did not direct me _toward_ the castle. So right is wrong. My inner voice laughs but I quiet it as I turn around to take the left way instead, hoping that I am not once again being conceited in assuming I know the answers to the Labyrinth.

I am hesitant to walk into the unknown, but I know that I have a better chance at success following the path the worm was probably discouraging me from. As Alice and I step forward, the passage melts into the same maze as the right-hand passage had, but then bright light momentarily blinds us. As my eyes adjust, I find myself in a stone passage.

I cannot see the sky, as the passage is enclosed, but daylight shines in at intervals, so I know I am not underground. I step forward, Alice in tow, trying to quiet my steps in the eerie silence.

Suddenly, I hear a telltale giggle. My mind freezes. Davey is near. Alice perks up at the familiar sound and looks around frantically, seemingly remembering her mission. I hear the low voices of goblins and rush us forward, descending the several shallow steps that lead into an intersection of passages. Before us is a large door, the same size as that which Ludo pushed open for me to enter the castle. The voices are coming from the left.

I turn and am shocked into stillness. Déjà vu. I turn my head to look back to where we came from and recognize it from the new angle. It is the passage that was before us when my three companions and I entered the castle. To the right of it, ahead of us are the steps ascending to the throne room.

Hesitantly—apprehension and determination battling within me—I step forward, pulling Alice to my side, and we walk upward toward the archway as the goblin voices grow louder.

I pause at the threshold, watching the goblins carefully. There are a few that I recognize, and I feel my mind ease a degree. There is no sign of Jareth, and so my mind eases another degree. One of the larger goblins is cradling the apparently unharmed Davey in his arms on the steps below the overlarge stone throne. I breathe a sigh of relief and let my mind ease entirely for a moment.

I hug Alice to my side. She has yet to spot her child and is instead overwhelmed at the sight of the reveling goblins.

I push her against the wall gently and put heavy hands on either of her shoulders. She slides down the wall into a sitting position. Once she is settled, I stand up and leave her side for the first time since we left her flat. Snagging one of the familiar goblins on the outskirts of the room and maneuvering my hand to muffle his surprise, I squat down and command his attention.

"Lady?"

"You see that baby over there?" I indicate Davey with a gesture of my hand. "I want you to steal him."

"What?"

"You're a goblin, aren't you? That's what you do," I say, though Sir Didymus has led me to believe that is not entirely accurate anymore. "I want you to steal that baby for me. Bring him here."

He hesitates and fidgets, his horned helmet falling forward a little, as he considers my command. With what I assume is the goblin equivalent to a sigh, he nods and turns resolutely toward the baby, sneaking through the goblins and deftly stealing Davey from the arms of the now-sleeping larger goblin earlier attending to the baby.

A moment that seems both infinitesimal and eternal passes as I watch him wind his way toward me. I step back toward Alice and pull her up to a standing position. She leans against the wall in a daze.

The goblin clears his throat as he reaches me and I look down at him, considering. We have the baby, so how do we get out of here? Jareth tried to prevent me from reaching Toby, so perhaps touching the child will send us back. The questions are many. If I touch Davey, will we two alone go back, leaving Alice behind? We could touch him at the same time, but exact coordination is difficult, what if one or the other of us touches him before the other, just long enough to make a difference? I cannot take that risk, so I turn to Alice.

"Alice. Alice, I need you to pick up your baby."

Confused, Alice looks around until she spots Davey in the goblin's arms and recoils.

"Put him down and leave," I instruct the goblin.

After he obeys, I address Alice again. "Alice, I need you to pick up Davey."

She is staring at Davey as if he is a venomous snake. Glancing at Davey, I am drawn to pick him up myself. I sigh. I know I should not pick him up, but every cell in my body quietly goads me to take possession of him.

Fighting my impulse, I push Alice into a sitting position again, in front of Davey. I take her head in my hands.

"Alice, you need to pick up Davey. If you pick him up, you can go home. You _will_ pick him up and you _will_ go home. You will forget everything from the moment you voiced that fateful wish. Do you understand?"

I will her to understand. I plead with her to understand. I beg her to forget. I do not know whether or not physical contact will work, but I need her to try. If it does not work, I will think of a new solution, but for now this is it.

"Pick him up, Alice."

Without hesitation, Alice reaches for the child before us.


	4. The Goblin King

Please review! Especially since I have no second pair of eyes/brain to help. Follows and Favs are love, too! I promise I will send you sweet dreams about his highness if you do any or all three! Or Sarah, or the goblins, depending on your personal preferences ;)

Chapter Four

Day Two: The Goblin King's Revenge

The space before me is empty.

Davey and Alice have vanished from before my eyes.

Success!

Wait.

I am still here.

I feel unexpected panic rise in my chest as I sink to the filthy floor. I am prepared for this possibility. This is _not_ the end. I will get out of here. I managed to escape once, I can do so again. I have enough power to leave. I hope Jareth does not have the power to keep me here, or do worse.

%%%

I wake alert. I am not yet willing to open my eyes, but I am fully aware of the strangely comfortable alien environment around me. Satin, softness, and a faint, earthly smell envelop me. The coolness of the sheets against my skin is relief from the encroaching warmth of the air, but the blankets on my feet are too heavy for the summer heat.

I strain to ascertain anything more without my sight. There are soft, distant noises coming from the direction of a gentle breeze, and behind my eyelids I detect light. It must be a window.

I hear a latch lift in another direction and my breathing stops. I am frozen, and hope I appear to be sleeping. Faint, familiar sounds of scurrying and shifting announce the presence of a plethora of goblins distantly beyond the door, but in a whisper someone hushes them and shoos them away. Heavy footfalls draw closer, through the door, and to the bed and I am momentarily relieved. I cannot imagine Jareth walking with such ungracefully loud footsteps. Of course, that does not mean that he is not here, just that he is not here _alone_.

The footsteps pause and a clunking and tinkling beside me indicate the owner of the heavy footfalls has set something on the bedside table. I listen to the footsteps retreat and the latch click.

I cannot bring myself to open my eyes. I can sense I am still not alone, and I fear what I will see when I part my eyelids. I try to control my breathing to hide that I am awake and on the verge of panic.

"Your h—Lady Sarah?"

I let out a breath and open my eyes automatically upon hearing Gelda's familiar voice. I sit up and look over. On the floor next to the bed stands the thin and petite goblin, a welcome sight.

"Gelda!"

I swiftly crawl to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over. The sudden movement leaves me unexpectedly dizzy and I squeeze my eyes shut and bring my fingers to press at my temples in a feeble attempt to stop the headache.

"Milady? Are you alright?"

"Just a little dizzy, Gelda. It is the least of my problems right now."

I look up with a grimace, sure that the sadness in my eyes is obvious even to her.

"M—milady? What's wrong?"

It is something I know Gelda cannot comprehend, so I ignore her question and look toward the bedside table from which I heard the clunking earlier. A tray is set on it, piled with food-filled dishes. It smells good and looks foreign. I raise my eyebrows.

"Your breakfast, Lady Sarah."

She knows that, except for her, I do not let the goblins prepare my food, even the more intelligent ones. "Gelda," I admonish, "who prepared the food?"

She quirks her head and looks at me, confused for a moment. "Not the lesser goblins, milady! The cook is quite skillful, I hear. I would have had the food sent to the dining hall or your parlor, as I am told is usual, but considering you slept all day and night, I thought perhaps you were not feeling well enough to eat even in your private dining parlor."

I slept all day and night? The last thing I remember was sending Alice and Davey home. Did I black out? What possessed me to do that!?

I am queasy at the same time as hungry, so I probably cannot eat anyway. "Thank you, Gelda, but I am not hungry," I lie, hoping she will accept my excuse.

She hesitates for a moment, but the obedience and respect I managed to brainwash into her takes over. "Of course, milday. I shall leave you alone then, for a moment, to adjust to your state of wakefulness. I will be beyond the door when you need me."

I listen to her leave with my head hanging and eyes closed. I feel my mask, still tied into my hair, fall forward a little from where I pushed it up on my forehead after the masquerade, reminding me of its presence. I reach up pull my hair out of the knot, pull off the mask without untying its ribbons, and toss it aside.

Tentatively I lift my head and slowly open one eye and then the other. I take a deep breath and look around. There is a tall and wide arched window in the direction I assumed. It is without curtains or pane and a worn cushion rest on the wide, stone sill, as if it is a well-use seat. I smile despite myself.

Drawn, I stand and walk carefully toward the light. I gasp as the view meets my eyes. It is similar to the view from the hilltop before the gate of the Labyrinth, but from a higher vantage point, and backwards. I cannot tell if I am looking at the same or a different part of the Labyrinth, but its ever-changing beauty is too mesmerizing to leave me room to care. I never see it change, much like my experience of traveling through it, but when I look away from one part I feel more than see change in my peripheral vision. When I look back, something has changed. I could stare out this window for hours. Now I know why his cushion is so well worn.

Reluctantly, I turn from the window. Several sconces are along the walls, but none of the lanterns are lit. Our bed is wider than anything standard among humans, with four dark posts, and sheets and canopy the same dark blue, though of a different materials. There is a thick fur and a long blanket woven from heavy threads at the base of the bed, explaining the weight I felt on my feet as I woke. The room is unfurnished except for than the bed and side tables, though there are three smaller wooden doors as well as the larger one through which Gelda exited, and a large, empty fireplace. The ceiling, walls, and floor are of the same stone I recognize from the rest of the castle.

I fumble with the old-fashioned latch handle on the wooden door and almost walk into Gelda beyond the threshold.

"Sorry, Gelda."

She nods humble acceptance of my apology and turns to hand me my boots. I take them from her, confused, and she reenters the bedroom to return with the stick with which I secure my hair.

"I hope it was not uncomfortable to sleep with your hair up, milady. I did not think to undo it when I relieved you of some of the other burdens of your wardrobe."

I look down as Gelda ushers me to one of the many seats in the generously large sitting room. I am only wearing my dress and gloves. From one of my boots Gelda pulls my black leggings, rolled in a neat cylinder, and from the other she takes the knee-high nylons.

"Considering the heat, Lady Sarah, I think you can do without these," she places the knee-highs aside, "but it is not respectable to walk around barefoot. Here," she says, holding one boot out for me to slip my feet into.

I prefer to go barefoot, but do not feel like arguing with Gelda this morning. Wearing shoes without socks is probably not the nicest smelling of ideas, but she is correct that the knee-highs will only make me hotter. I slip my feet into the proffered boots. She maneuvers around the settee to refashion my hair into another bun. I fidget with the gloves. They are not very comfortable.

"Gelda, do you think one of the goblins could sneak into Alice's car and fetch me my gloves?"

"They are certainly capable of that, milady. But would it not be swifter to fetch them yourself."

I resist the temptation to turn around and glare at her. "Gelda, just go get the gloves."

I take in my surroundings as Gelda removes the breakfast tray from the bedroom. My back is to the bedroom door and before me, across the room is an archway that opens to what appears to be the private dining parlor. To my left are double doors through which Gelda exits with the tray, and large fireplace. It is even larger than the one in the bedroom—almost tall enough to stand in and wider than my arm span. To the right is another door, ajar. Opulent settees, upholstered chairs, and large cushions that must serve as another type of seating surround me. Blankets, furs, and pillows litter them and the floor, presenting an unorganized mess that is somehow inviting.

I walk around the room, spying into the dining parlor to see a long, dark table and two lonely chairs. The table is surprisingly free of dust. A long, graying, tasseled runner that used to be red and a wide bronze candelabrum grace the table. The room has a small (or smaller) window and a wooden chandelier. I peak through the opening of the door ajar and see evidence of a study. Books line the walls, even above and below the window, and there is a large desk littered with crisp papers takes up much of the room.

I pull myself from the distractions and realize I need to think of an escape. I turn away from the study's door and walk briskly across the room to the double doors by which Gelda left. Opening them, I come to the sickening realization that I do not know where I am. Frozen with the memories of the room of seven perspectives and the ever-changing Labyrinth, I call out "Gelda!" in desperation.

Before the echoes of her name fade away, Gelda walks around a corner and into my sight.

"Gelda," I breathe out, relieved.

"Milady?" she inquires, handing me the gloves I earlier requested.

"I need to go… somewhere else," I explain as I swiftly exchange the slightly uncomfortable gray suede for the pliable leather.

"Of course, milady. I am sorry I had not thought about the fact that you do not yet know your way. Where do you wish to go?"

It is such an innocent and simple question, and yet I feel anger bud and I cannot answer it. I need to go _back_. Barring that, I know little of the castle and will certainly feel uncomfortable anywhere within it so long as Jareth's location is a mystery, but right now the only ideas I can conceive for my departure from this world involve him, so I should probably stay nearby as I think.

"Somewhere nearby, but private, where I won't be disturbed. By _anyone._"

"I think you will find the library suitable, Lady Sarah," Gelda offers as she begins walking toward where she came from, indicating for me to follow.

I lose my way quickly in the winding passages, and am grateful when Gelda stops before an ornately carved door. She gives a bow and gestures for me to let myself in before walking away and disappearing behind one of the ubiquitous corners.

Slowly, I lift the latch and lean against the heavy-looking door. It gives way easily beneath the pressure of my shoulder and swings open the rest of the way of its own accord. I cannot help but stare in awe at the expansive collection before my eyes. A memory flashes in my mind's eye of Disney's Beauty and the Beast, when Belle is taken to the Beast's library. The scene is comparable, except this library is much larger, dustier, and duller in color. There are several ladders, stairs, and walkways allowing access to the books, and there are a few simple desks with chairs, settees, and one or two cushions on each deep stone windowsill.

Trying to quell my wonder at the room around me, I seat myself on a settee and curl my legs beside me, determined to think. Obviously touching the wished-away baby is crossed off the list of ideas. I was returned last time by reciting the words from _The Labyrinth_, so that is one idea, but I am not sure if it will have the same effect when I have not journeyed through the Labyrinth to say them. Jareth took me from my parents' room to the Labyrinth in order to journey through it in the first place, so perhaps he can return me similarly, but perhaps that is the power of the Labyrinth itself over wishers, as it did the same for Alice and me despite his absence. It seems unfathomable to me that he, who can turn the world upside down, is limited in his powers, though. He _must_ be able to send me back.

There is always the possibility that there is a solution I am unaware of, of course. 'Take nothing for granted,' I remind myself.

"Gelda."

The door opens inward and Gelda stands at the threshold, apparently reluctant to enter.

"How do I get home?"

She looks at me with obvious confusion.

"You _are_ home, milady."

Of course. "How do I get back to my flat, or to my parents' house?"

She looks surprised and it takes her a moment to respond. "I do not know, Lady Sarah. I do not have the power to take you there, and as such, neither do the lesser goblins. I thought you were capable of doing so yourself, but perhaps you need to… learn. I am sure his highness is capable of teaching you, or sending you home himself, if you wish to visit your family or friends."

As I suspected. "Where _is_ Jareth, that I may make my request of him?"

She fidgets a little and replies. "I do not know, milady. I hear that as of late, his highness is more often away than at the castle. If I inquire of some of his more intelligent subjects, I may be able to obtain an accurate estimated time of arrival."

"Do that," I command, exasperated.

With nothing better to do, I go in search of a book written in English and at least somewhat interesting.

%%%

The sun has passed below the horizon, bathing the room in light now too dim to read by. Though the chandeliers, lanterns hanging from the sconces placed in intervals along the bookshelves, and the standing candelabra would cast more than enough light if lit, all of them remain dark. I am tired, which seems inexplicable if I slept away the remainder of yesterday and all night.

"Glenda," I whisper into the twilight, after returning the book to the shelf.

I hear the door open and tear my eyes away from the remaining beauty of the sunset through the window before me.

"I am rather tired. Is there a better place for me to sleep than a library settee?"

Her face contorts into confusion once again as I approach her.

"Milady?"

I remain silent, expectant, as I stop in front of her. I do not want to have to explain what I think she is going to require me to explain.

"You woke up in your bed, remember? That is surely a more suitable place than the settee?" She considers me for a moment before hesitantly asking, "Do—do you wish to sleep _elsewhere_?" She whispers the final word as if it is scandalous.

I let out my irritation with a heavy breath. "_Yes_, Gelda, that is what I have been saying."

She fidgets and looks side to side, before leaning toward me and whispering in a confidential tone, "It is better to sleep in your own bed than cause rumor to spread, milady."

I twitch an eyebrow.

"It does not make things better to sleep separately when quarrelling, anyway," she declares, sounding for all the world like the lady-in-waiting she is.

Her presumptuous speech was so matter-of-fact that I am almost tempted to give in. Almost.

"No, Glenda, I cannot take that risk. I know you do not understand, but trust me." I pause for a moment, thinking. "I will sleep here. We can make it look like I _accidently_ fell asleep, that way both of us have our way."

"It is not _my_ way, milady."

I roll my eyes. "I know; I know. You understand my meaning, so let's not mince words." I almost dismiss her, but then remember, "Did you hear anything concerning Jareth's arrival?"

Gelda shakes her head

"Well, since I am 'accidently' falling asleep, I have no further need of you tonight." I wave her away with a gesture.

Annoyed with myself for my unusual haughtiness as much as I am annoyed with Gelda for her ignorance, I half fall onto the settee. I decide that if I am going to playact, I might as well do it well. I get up and venture to the bookshelves and skim the titles, once again looking for something written in English and hopefully mildly entertaining. I am more self-conscious about what I choose this time, in case I am caught in the act of reading.

Finally making a selection, I return with it to the settee. Curious, I turn to the first page and strain in the dim light to read.

%%%

I wake to the sound of someone clearing his throat. Groggily I open my eyes. It is still dark outside, but flickering light indicates that someone has lit a candle. I sit up. My chosen book lies open on the floor, as if it fell from my hands as I drifted to sleep. Whoever has invaded my sleep clears his throat again. I turned toward the noise, annoyed.

Jareth.

He stands aloof in the candle light, watching me intently with a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. Oh, no. My desire to stay here battles my need to go home as my infatuation begins overtaking my fear.

"Good evening," says that alluringly arrogant voice as he steps farther into the room and a few more candles light as if of their own accord.

He is the same as I remember him. I try not to let my mind wander, but I cannot resist looking him up and down. He wears all black: knee-high boots hug his calves and slim trousers hug his lean hips and a deep-necked waistcoat pulls his otherwise billowy shirt tight against his torso. In the folds of his open shirt, a partially obscured pendant gleams in the candlelight.

The pendant distracts me. I wonder if he always wore it. I wonder what it looks like. I feel that pull again. That same pull that called me to pick up Davey—though I resisted it then—the same pull that drew me toward the Labyrinth with Alice in tow, that makes me forgive the goblins their mischief, and that causes me to yearn for the company of my friends. The same pull, I admit, that coaxes me into my dreams at night and will not let me overcome my unintelligent infatuation with the man before me, who will probably enjoy once again punishing me for defying him. I hope that he does not succeed this time. Maybe he will just send me back, therefore meeting both our needs.

"Jareth," I breathe. 'So much for a firm voice,' I grumble mentally. I feel childish again in comparison to his cool demeanor.

With the speed of darkness he is in front of me. My mind cannot comprehend the movement. He bends forward and I put all my willpower into staying still. His breath is on my ear.

This is much more dangerous than I thought.

"Why are you here, precious?"

I freeze. Even my heart freezes. I cannot find my words. Why am I here? Why am I here? Ah! "As ironic as it may seem, I am here to go back."

He raises one graceful eyebrow as he steps back. "What?"

"I got here, but I don't know how to get back."

"How did you get here if you did not want to?" Jareth asks almost rhetorically, and as if the answer is amusing.

"I _did_ want to. Circumstances dictated that I make a difficult decision, and that once again that led me here." Without so much as a runaway note to my parents.

"And now you want to return." With his strangely admirable self-assurance, Jareth frames it as a statement rather than a question.

"No," I answer honestly, though the real answer is not that simple.

The smirk at the corner of his mouth spreads.

"I do not _want_ to go back, but I _need_ to."

A look flashes through his eyes almost too fast to read. I just reopened an old wound, didn't I? He considers me for a moment and leans languidly against the books.

"Well, if you tell me how you got here, maybe I can tell you how to get back."

I have the distinct impression that he has no such intention.

I sigh. "Fine." I will play your game. "But why can't you just take me back?" I tilt my head down and look at him through my lashes with my best puppy dog eyes.

"I believe that is what I have just done." He straightens. "If you have any intention of leaving," not that you have any intention of letting me, "I actually _do_ need to know how you got here. Magic is not something to be trifled with, and there is no other means by which you can find yourself here."

"Oh."

"Oh," he mimicks.

"Well then," I yawn.

"Need to sleep?"

I look up at him, pursing my lips and glaring. "I can stay up all night if need be."

He smiles predatorily.

I clear my throat, trying to break the tension. "Well, now is as good a time as any."

It takes all my energy to walk back to the settee, sit down casually, and look at Jareth expectantly. With a half smile that speaks of danger, he sits in a chair across from me.

Beginning with my realization that Alice had said the right words, I relay the tale of our short adventure, ending with the moment Alice touched Davey.

He looks confused. Jareth looks _confused_. I relish in the moment, forgetting for an instant that my return home is dependent on the man before me.

"What happened before that?" he asks suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"What happened before Alice made her wish?"

I look at him quizzically. What does it matter what happened before that? Alice was frustrated with her baby. Marshall and I were conversing in the living room—no—it was my birth minute. I was celebrating silently in the kitchen. Oh, no.

"My birthday wish," I whisper, unintentionally speaking aloud.

"What?"

I look up at Jareth. "I wanted to give Alice a wish. I always make a wish on my birthday, something inconsequential, usually, but I was so lost that I could not even think of what I wanted, so I entertained the idea of doing something for someone else. When my birth minute came, the traditional time for my wish, I asked for a wish for Alice without even thinking about it."

His eyes dawn understanding, or the ghost of understanding, like he suspects a possibility but is not sure. "If my suspicions are correct, neither one of us can send you back."

"What!?"

He looks at me blankly.

"Won't you at least try?" I plead.

"No, I do not think so." It is the expected answer.

I sag in my seat, pouting childishly. "Why not?"

"Why should I?"

I hesitate. "I don't know."

He stands up with a self-assured grin. "Off to bed with you then," he says patronizingly, ending our conversation.

He holds his hand out to me. Distrusting, I take it anyway and rise from my seat. "I was asleep already, remember?"

"Yes, well, that settee is not very comfortable, is it?"

For the first time, I notice several sore spots along my body. "No," I concede.

"Well then, you are in want of a proper bed." There is that predatory gleam again.

Acknowledging that statement is very dangerous. I remain silent. He grabs me by the wrist and without even feeling the air move around us, we are suddenly standing in the private sitting room.

"You know the way," he gestures toward the bedroom door.

"What?"

I watch him summon a crystal to his upturned fingertips. He reaches out toward me as if offering it and the crystal transforms.

I gasp. It is my mask.

Oh, no! I left it on the bed!

He chuckles at the obviousness of my realization and the mask disappears.

"You are tired, and you find the bed comfortable, so go." He observes my incredulous look with almost-contained frustration. "I promise you will sleep alone, but," an involuntary shiver runs down my body as he steps back and observes me carefully from head to toe and back, "I think you will need something else to sleep _in_."

Jareth makes his way to the bedroom and disappears through one of the narrow doors I observed earlier, from behind which the sounds of rummaging ensue. He emerges with a mischievous look to rival any goblin and an expanse of off-white material dangling from one outstretched, gloved hand. He shakes it a little, indicating that I am to relieve him of it.

"What is it?"

He lets out an exasperated sighs. "A nightshirt."

I eye him, incredulous once again. "_Your_ nightshirt?"

"No. My _shirt_, plain and simple. _Your_ nightshirt, now. Take it."

"No."

"No?"

"I'll sleep in my dress."

He growls, _growls_ at me. "You confounding girl! Did they _teach_ you how to deny a man's generosity?"

He throws the shirt at me and vanishes from before my eyes. I hear a door slam beyond the bedroom, in the sitting room but opposite the direction of the exit. Jareth has "retired" to his study.

With a sigh of defeat, I set to work undressing myself, but I cannot unzip my dress. "Great," I mutter sarcastically. I briefly consider summoning Gelda or another goblin, but I would rather keep my relationships with them as hidden as possible from Jareth's eyes, just in case he does not know. There is only one thing to do.

Barefoot, I walk to the study door. With a resigned sigh, I knock softly.

"What is it?" I can tell he is speaking through gritted teeth.

I smile wryly. Might as well surprise him out of that nasty mood. "Can you help me take off my dress?"

I hear a small clunk inside and a moment later the door opens to reveal a surprisingly flustered Goblin King. I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Apparently my intuition, though still rather untested, is right about some things.

"I cannot reach," I say, turning around, "so can you unzip my dress?"

"Un_zip_?"

Oh. I wonder if he knows what a zipper is. I stifle another laugh. "You see the line in the back of my dress? At the top, hidden in the material, is a little bar, like a handle. Use one hand to hold the top of my dress and the other to pull that little handle down and it will undo the fasteners," I manage to say without sounding patronizing.

"Oh. And what do I get in exchange for my _generous _assistance?"

An apology. But he deserves that anyway, so I cannot very well give it away as an award, can I? "My gratitude," I reply simply.

Apparently that is good enough, because immediately I feel him fumbling at the top of my dress, trying to operate the zipper. I try to control the shiver that runs down my spine as the night air enters my dress with the fluid downward motion of his hands on the zipper. He stays there for too long a moment, one hand clutching the material below my neck, the other still on the zipper at the small of my back.

"Ahem," I wake him from his stupor.

"Ah, yes. It is done." He releases his hold.

I turn around, considering exactly how to apologize and thank him. I cannot risk angering him further if I am to manipulate my way into his good opinion, but I guess there is no wrong or right way to go about apology and gratitude. "Sorry," I blurt.

"Excuse me?"

I hesitate a moment before continuing. "Sorry for not accepting your shirt. I must say that my rejection of your shirt was not meant to be offensive, though. Where I grew up, it is not taken lightly when a woman wears a man's shirt, so I was just… taken aback. But I _am _sorry. This is not that world, and you are right that it will be infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in this rather uncomfortable dress again. So I apologize. And I thank you for your generosity in allowing me to stay here, even in your own bed, and wearing your own shirt."

I must be possessed by an evil spirit, because I rise on my toes and place a kiss on the cheek of a very surprised Goblin King before dashing away with a hurried "good night" and disappearing behind the bedroom door.

Heart pounding in a mix of fear and excitement, I try to calm my adrenaline rush. With careful, purposeful movements, I change into the slightly large shirt and place my things against the wall. Letting my hair loose from the bun, I slip into bed.

%%%

%%%

A/N: Cookies to whoever recognized the obscure 80s/90s reference! Here is an even more obscure hint: SeaQuest.


	5. Breakfast, Boredom, and Bedtime

Thank you to my new and continuing readers, followers, favoriters, and to **Smiles1998** for the encouragement.

A short chapter, sorry, and not too exciting, I don't think. Hope you enjoy anyway! Things will get more interesting next time :)

Chapter Five

Day Three: Breakfast, Boredom, and Bedtime

The sun and an early morning breeze drift through the window and I shiver in my nightshirt. _Jareth's_ shirt. The aroma of breakfast drifts in despite the closed door, and my stomach reminds me that I have not eaten since my arrival in the Labyrinth. Briefly, I wonder how I lasted this long, and almost fall out of bed on my way to the door. With my hand on the latch, I realize that I am not appropriately dressed, and that that is rather dangerous. I pull on my leggings, twist my hair into a knot, and thread my fingers together, pressing my gloves on more securely from where they loosened in my sleep. Leaving my boots untouched, I exit the room in search of food.

The sitting room is quiet. The study door is open, but I cannot tell if the room is occupied or not. I locate the source of the smell. Through the archway, on the expansive dining table, is a plethora of food. I am drawn by the sight and smell, but I pause in the middle of the room. If Jareth is still in his study, it will be rude to pass by without greeting him. And partaking of the food as if it is mine is rather presumptuous.

Wondering just how long this game will go on and whether or not Jareth has decided exactly how I can win his help, I rap lightly on the doorframe and peek in. I bite my lower lip as I try to contain a laugh that has no need for existence. Jareth is in the chair at his desk, the papers around him even messier than when I spied the room before. He is slumped in the seat, head lolling to one side and eyes closed, still in the clothes he wore last night.

For a moment I hope that he did not fall asleep there on purpose. I feel guilty for monopolizing the bed.

Drawing my head back so he cannot see me, and closing the door until it almost latches, I knock again on the doorframe, this time much louder. After the third time, I hear rustling of papers and know I have awoken him. I hope that he is not more angry at being awoken than he would have been at me for the conceit of "making myself at home."

Without the sound of footsteps to announce his approach, the door opens slowly to a much less disheveled Goblin King, awake enough now to put on his usual self-assured smile and change clothes without a thought, or with nothing but a thought—however that works.

"Good morning, Sarah." There is a twinkle of amusement and pleasure in his eyes as he says the words, as if he were sharing a private joke with a good friend, except that he has only himself.

There is something strangely attractive about that confident smile, the way his voice rolls over my name, and the rare emotion in his eyes. I need to get out of here.

The pesky infatuation is still battling the fear in my heart. As much as I abhor my fear, it is the lesser of the two evils, and so I let it win. I step back in apprehension and watch his gaze follow my movement. Involuntarily, I notice that his shirt is white now, and his trousers gray.

Ah! I am looking at him again! Admiring his appearance is _not_ helpful, Sarah. It will bolster the opponent of fear in my heart, and until I find a third alternative, I am letting fear dominate. Even so, I cannot help noticing that he looks aged, like he did when I last saw him in the ruined room of the castle where I won Toby's return. I wonder why I did not notice it before.

Concern is an emotion that will only aid the budding infatuation in its battle so I push it aside, but the appearance of another emotion is a good sign. I am not acting like myself right now. If I were in control, what would I be feeling? Disbelief. Indignation. Curiosity. Impatience.

I settle for curiosity, as it is, though generally considered a child_like_ quality, the least child_ish_. In any case, I will need information to play this game. I cannot just shout out my questions, though, can I? Though he looked down on me, sabotaged my journey through the Labyrinth, and tried to seduce me when I was still a naïve girl, our conversations had always begun civilly, and when I managed to keep them that way I generally got what I wanted—or thought I wanted.

"Good morning," I reply, though there has been a lengthy pause since his greeting.

Apparently my words are unexpected because he loses control of his usually arrogant expression and it betrays him by showing me his surprise. It is only a fleeting moment.

His expression returning to normal, he continues the small talk. "You slept well, I trust."

"Contrary to common belief, sleep is not a trivial conversational topic; I thought we were maintaining polite conversation."

Again, my reply is unexpected, but the Goblin King does a better job of hiding his reaction this time. I cannot blame him for his surprise; the words rolled off my tongue before they consciously registered in my mind, so I am also surprised.

"I do not think it is necessary to 'maintain polite conversation,' as you would say." The Goblin King pauses a moment, apparently expecting me to speak, but I do not, so he continues. "Then: did you sleep well? And why is sleep not a trivial topic?"

I hesitate a moment. I can answer the first question casually, but replying to the second will mean giving him implied information as well as my literal answer. I do not speak about such things, even with Alice. I even avoid it with my parents.

I do not have much choice, or, rather, I am willing to sacrifice here in order to gain the information or his good opinion of me that I need to leave this place once again.

"I slept well," I answer honestly, still trying to form my next sentence. "And sleep is not a guaranteed trivial subject because not everyone sleeps well, and it is rather impolite to remind such a person that they had a fitful night, or whatever the case may be."

"Then it should be a trivial topic if one sleeps well. I knew you slept well, so it was not impolite to ask."

There is a glint in the Goblin King's eyes that makes me suspect that not only does he know I slept well last night but he knows I slept infinitely better than I do in my flat or childhood home. I do not, however, want to broach the topic, or dwell on how he has either piece of information.

Somehow I know he wants me to admit to sleeping better here than there, but I do not think I will get a fair trade for that piece of information. Even if I could, the maturity of my conversation and the civility of his should wane soon.

"What's next?" I ask informally and rather bluntly, suddenly overpowered by my desire to end the conversation and escape his presence. I hope it did not sound venomous.

He takes my question and tone rather well, considering how he would have reacted to it in the past.

"Breakfast," he replies simply, gesturing to the archway that leads to the dining room, as if everything about this is normal. "I had them set it up in the private dining room so you would be more comfortable," he adds. "I'll leave you alone as well." His tone somehow suggests that he is thinking about my almost venomous 'What's next?' "Afterwards, feel free to do whatever you wish. Just remember where you are."

'Nothing is as it seems.' I remember the words he is suggesting. Is he warning me to be careful?

Without another word, he walks past me, through the sitting room and out the double door entrance. He walks with too much grace for a human, but he is not human, is he? I momentarily wonder why he did not just disappear and reappear at his destination.

The aroma wafting through the archway draws my attention back to breakfast. I sigh, trying to dissipate the oncoming headache as my mind tries to accept my situation and find a way out of it. This is all much too confusing to philosophize. I will my mind to clear as I close the remaining distance between the table and myself. The table is too long for a private dining room—I estimate it is long enough to seat six people down the length while still giving them generous elbow room. I guess when you are in a castle, though, everything is grandiose. There are only two chairs, one at the head of the table and the other to its right. There is only one place set, the one at the head of the table, so I do not have to choose where to sit.

The food is surprisingly familiar, and I let that comfort me. All the food before me is something I like, and nothing that I dislike is here. There are a ceramic few jugs, each paired with a crystal goblet, but I choose to ignore them all without testing the contents. The china is an undecorated off-white, the silver simple in shape and without engraving, and the linen napkin a deep blue similar to the sheets on my bed.

My bed? I throw that thought out quickly and return my attention to the feast before me. There is more food than I can sample, let alone eat in entirety, so I treat it like a buffet. I assume that is how it is supposed to be anyway, unless the creatures of this realm have an appetite rivaling that of four hyperactive teenage boys combined. For some reason, I practice good table manners as I eat, but that does not prevent me from heartily enjoying the meal. I eat my fill and push myself away from the table.

Jareth suggested I do whatever I want. I suppose I could explore, but I honestly do not feel comfortable exploring a presumably magical castle alone, especially with all the twists and turn I experienced yesterday. I cannot sit around doing nothing, though, so I let myself study the dining room before I leave. The dark wood of the table legs and chair are carved in intricate patterns. There is another fireplace in this room as well, though much smaller than the ones in the bedroom and sitting room.

I slowly walk out to the sitting room. I do not dare enter Jareth's study. I have already observed the bedroom and this room. I saunter to one of the more plush couches anyway and study my surroundings more carefully. The pillows and upholstery are all dark velvets—dark red, emerald green, midnight blue, violet. The wood of the furniture is stained different hues of dark brown, though in some places there are intricate gold inlays. There are furs are of every color—white, blonde, chestnut, gray, auburn, brunette, black—but all are of large size. Some seem to be used as rugs, others as couch or chair covers and yet others as blankets. There are other blankets, too—woven blankets, blankets that look knitted but are probably fashioned in a similar but other-world way, and down-stuffed blankets. The colors are similar to the upholstery, with blacks, a variety of medium to dark grays, and chocolate browns as well. Some are velveteen and others cottony.

I rise and wonder what more to do as I wait for my next encounter with Jareth. Briefly, I think about going in search of him instead of waiting, but quickly determine that to be an even less intelligent idea than waiting on his whims. With nothing better to do, I find myself walking into the bedroom and gravitating toward the window with a view of the Labyrinth. I watch carefully, to see if I can detect its movement. I notice changes, but they always happen when I am looking away, so that I cannot notice them until I look again at the same place. I remember that was so frustrating when I traveled through the Labyrinth: no noise, no movement in peripheral vision, but suddenly you would look at the same place you had before, yet it was not the same. I guess that tendency might be helpful to the Labyrinth and the Goblin King, though.

My mind drifts to my memories of traversing the Labyrinth, and to the three friends I acquired. I already determined to ignore the goblins as if we have no acquaintance, for their sake and mine, in case Jareth is not already aware of our intertwined lives. My friends are of even greater concern, though. I hold them dear enough that their presence here might become a chink in my armor against Jareth if he chooses to exact revenge rather than banish me. I quiet my thoughts. Watching the Labyrinth change subtly between glances appeases my need for entertainment for a long while.

I find myself yawning and try to analyze the time of day. It is late evening. The aroma of food wafts in through the open door. My stomach grumbles and I obligingly stretch and rise from the cushion on the windowsill. As I exit the room, I note that lamps light the sitting room, and the dining room beyond the archway.

I pause a moment once I have stepped out of the bedroom and do my best to survey the room, including the dark corners and shadowy areas not illuminated by the lamps, to see whether or not I am alone. There is still no sign of Jareth. I peek into his study again, but he is not there this time. I sigh with mixed emotions of frustration and relief.

The dinner feast is smaller, but the food still familiar. A crystal carafe has replaced the multiple ceramic jugs that were present at breakfast. It holds a clear liquid I hope is water. Bringing it to my nose, I sniff it but smell nothing. I pour a meager amount into the crystal goblet and carefully sip it. It is water, much to my relief. I fill the goblet the rest of the way, but try not to drink too much so that I will have room for food.

It is all delicious, just like breakfast was. As I finish my meal I begin to wonder whether or not I will have to go in search of Jareth, because it seems he is avoiding me. It is not yet time to retire for the night, however, so I still have some hope of meeting him. If he manages to avoid me all day, I will actively look for him tomorrow. I hope that he stays true to his promise that I can sleep alone. Dabbing the corners of my mouth with the cloth napkin and taking one last sip of water, I rise from the dining chair and exit to the sitting room. I will wait in the sitting room.

I suddenly become aware of another presence in the room, and it makes me realize I once again fell asleep in the sitting room. I hear no noise, but I am certain I am not alone. I am too tired, however, to care, and so I drift back to sleep just as I feel a soft touch on my shoulder.


	6. Deepest Desires and Lesser Wants

Thank you to my new and continuing readers, followers, and favoriters, to **Lylabeth 1** who encouraged me to do some deeper editing—I am sending you a plethora of brownies via ESP :)—to **Smiles1998** for the continued encouragements, and to **franald** and **danni98**, too.

Although you may notice I did some editing and chapter-combining, nothing plot-related has changed, so you don't have to go back and read it if you are not so inclined. I just made Sarah's character (hopefully) more consistent (the characters and circumstances were getting rather unruly as I wrote, beginning to drift from my original intentions) and returned the rest of her self-confidence and self-awareness, and shortened some dull parts. I apologize for the confusion of combining chapters! This chapter would have been 9 by the original divisions, just so you know where you are at (and I kept the chapter names, so that should help if numbers don't).

Chapter Six

Deepest Desires and Lesser Wants

Trying to coax myself back into sleep, I snuggle into my bedding. It almost works: I lay in my favorite position; my surroundings are warm and comfortable, but something is wrong. I slowly become aware of familiar sensations that should not be familiar. This is not my mattress. These are not my sheets. Those are not my blankets. And this is not my pillow. No, this is not a pillow at all, is it?

My eyes fly open as I realize I am lying against a body. A firm, warm, delicious-smelling body. I jerk back and my gaze falls on Jareth. Without opening his eyes he tightens his grip on me. His firm hold immobilizes my path backward. I feel my cheeks burn and I silently chastise myself for thinking my silly dreams were inappropriate. They were the dreams of a child, after all, and never progressed very far, in terms of intimacy. This compromising position is much worse to experience in reality. And what is worse is that I know it is not all that compromising, yet.

"Calm down."

I wonder if those words contain magic, because immediately my eyes close and my body relaxes in his embrace and my quickened heartbeat begins to slow. I concentrate on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I can do this; I am an experienced meditator.

"That's it, love."

His voice so close to my ear sends a strange sensation down my spine and I cannot help physically shivering. My almost calm heartbeat is returning to its previously fast pace.

He chuckles softly, presumably at my reaction, but that only makes things worse. I begin to struggle out of his grip and he tries shushing me through his laughter, but I ignore him and break out of his arms. Immediately I roll over, sit up, and curl my legs beneath me, but suddenly I find myself frozen in place.

Jareth is in the throes of laughter. I feel my cheeks warm indignantly. He is laughing at me.

He is laughing at _me_.

Wait. He is _laughing_?

The laughter betrays no evil, condescension, scheming, or victory. I stare, sure my gaze betrays the fact I think he has gone insane.

His body slowly stops shaking as his laughter quiets and I hear him draw in a few ragged breaths. Suddenly, he seems to remember who he is and who he is with. His face returns to its usual expression and his body stiffens. I am still staring at him as if he is insane.

He sits up and drapes his legs over the edge of the bed, facing away from me. I am inexplicably drawn to curiosity. What face is he making right now? What is he thinking? What was that episode of laughter about?

I slowly crawl toward him, fear and intrigue battling within me. He does not indicate that he notices my movement, but I am sure he is aware of it. When I reach the side of the bed, I cannot yet bring myself to look at him, so I swing my legs off the edge and sit next to him in silence, bowing my head. I see that I am still as dressed as I was when I fell asleep in the sitting room, but feel that my hair has fallen out of the bun.

Inquisitiveness winning over trepidation, I turn my head just enough that and look up through my eyelashes. His face remains neutral, but his eyes betray emotion. I am suddenly aware that his eyes have always betrayed his emotions despite his controlled facial expressions. The observation does me no good, though, because I cannot ascertain _what_ emotions his eyes betray.

I stare, trying unsuccessfully to read his eyes for some time before I recognize amusement glistening within them. I realize he has been returning my gaze for a while.

My indignation returns. "_What_, pray tell, is so amusing?" I say through gritted teeth. I feel one of my eyebrows rise slightly as the other descends.

Something flashes in Jareth's eyes, but it is gone before I can determine what it is. He breaks our mutual gaze as he rises silently, moving toward the door in graceful steps.

As the he crosses the threshold, Jareth turns his face halfway to me. "Sarah, Sarah. _You_ are what is 'so amusing,' my dear."

I have no time to respond before he disappears beyond the doorway, but I could not have anyway. Hearing my name pass his lips again makes a strange feeling swell in the base of my stomach. It is partly nostalgic, but I try not to name the other emotions. Jareth is bad for my mental health. 'Unless he returns your affection,' my sly inner voice adds, but I quell it. Replaying the minutes of my interactions with him has led me to believe he was attracted to me, even if only basely, but whether or not he still is is not so important as whether or not he forgives me, and I think the likelihood is not. That would be a lot easier to suffer through if I had not already, against my better judgment, forgiven his selfish pride in asking me to have to choose between him and family.

Yesterday Jareth was rather elusive (or maybe I was hiding), so I was unable to determine if he had developed a more specific task for me to accomplish in order to win our game. I have to find the answers to my questions and determine how to return home, as soon as possible.

I stand up, and the potential boredom of the day accosts me. What am I going to do? I suppose gazing at the Labyrinth might prove a diversion for a while, but even that will not last me all day if I am distracted by my thoughts. I walk to the window to look out on the ever-changing realm. I feel a little uncomfortable and divert my thoughts to pursuing the reason. Quickly, I realize I, though I am not longer (fully) in the same clothes I arrived in, I have not bathed in days. How repulsive. I have never been so long without a bath. I suppose it is fitting, considering the filth of the goblins in whose land I reside, to be filthy myself.

"Ugh." Taking a bath is almost the last thing I want to do in the Goblin King's castle.

"'Ugh'?"

I whirl around. Jareth has returned to the doorway in new clothes and with his usual self-assured manner restored.

I really do not want to tell him the subject of my thoughts, but how else am I going to take a bath? "I need to… take a bath."

He laughs quietly and I swear I hear him say something about smelling sweet no matter what. I glare at him.

He motions to one of the narrower doors and I go as directed. Behind the door is a spacious bath room, with a raised stone pool full of steaming water. Several vials, presumably soaps, and numerous fluffy towels line short two shelves on one wall.

Against my better judgment, I relax in the bath. The water is the perfect temperature and the soaps the perfect scent. When my fingers begin to prune, I reluctantly decide to get out, and I find that the towels are soft. A long robe hangs on the wall near the door and so I slip into it after drying myself.

Tentatively opening the door, I am relieved to find myself alone. A long white dress is laid out on the bed with what I presume to be a thin petticoat that looks like it will make do as a bra as well. Relieved, but embarrassed, to see drawers have been provided as well, I set to work dressing myself, not forgetting

Still barefoot, I exit to the sitting room, where I know I will be more comfortable. I let my hair loose as I go, planning on setting to work on it the best I can.

"Your hair is… long."

I look up, startled. I had assumed I was alone. My first thought is the rather sarcastic, 'Yes, it's long. I know that. It's my hair,' but I refrain from speaking it aloud.

"Thank you?" 'Don't give me that look,' I chastise my inner voice, 'What _should_ one say to such a comment?'

Jareth continues to stare as I seat myself, comb through my bum-length hair with my fingers, and twist it back into a bun.

Apparently no longer mesmerized, he speaks up. "Do you want to explore the castle today?"

I would rather find out how to get out of here. I pause my determination momentarily, though, and think of a logic approach to my dilemma. I have to extract the information causally, not plead for it childishly. I let the multiple armies battle within me for a while as I return the Goblin King's gaze. I hope the warring will produce a useable question or strategy.

Curiosity is winning.

"Why were you sleeping in my bed?"

I cringe. That is not the question I wanted to ask! And I called it _my_ bed. Again.

The suddenness of my question seems to have caught the Goblin King off guard, but he recovers so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it.

"You asked me to sleep in _your_ bed," he replies with frustrating vagueness and a smirk that goes wider as he says "your."

I mentally curse myself for asking a question I did not intend, and for calling it _my_ bed. He will hang that over my head. On the other hand, I know he is lying. There is no circumstance under which I would ask that of Jareth, and "I do not recall asking you to stay in our—" wrong correction, Sarah "_your_ bed. You said you would let me sleep alone."

Much to my relief, he ignores my even more embarrassing slip of the tongue and replies "Of course you do not recall it; you were asleep at the time."

"So you decided to succumbed to the whims of my sleep talk?"

Jareth's mouth twitches into another smirk. It scares me. I had just attempted to insult him, and yet he smirks at me. Clearly there is still something he knows that I do not—another something he can hold over my head.

"It seems we will get nowhere while I remain cryptic, and you sarcastic."

I should not care what he says, but I still feel chastised by his last remark. "I promise not to be sarcastic if you explain plainly."

It is his turn to cringes. He likes being mysterious, apparently.

To my great surprise, he sighs and says, "Fine," in a rather uncharacteristically resigned tone.

I just stare at him.

"You fell asleep in the sitting room."

I remember that.

"I found you asleep on one of the settees when I returned. You have a bad habit of doing that."

Perhaps his was the presence I felt in the moment of almost-wakefulness.

"I—" he hesitates, uncharacteristically.

I do not interrupt. The Goblin King does not know what to say. This moment is too precious. I must savor it.

Jareth casts away whatever thought muddled his speech and begins again, bolstering his usual aloof arrogance too much to be believable. "It is not your place to lie around my sitting room like that, so I decided you needed to go to bed where you belonged."

Habitually, I cringe inwardly at all the possible misconceptions that would arise from that statement if we were amongst my usual company.

"I picked you up and carried you here."

There is an evil glint in his eye. I know I am not going to like the next part of this story.

"By the time I stood over the bed, you had unconsciously clung to me." There is that evil gleam in his eye again. "I could not pry you off, so I decided to lay you down and see if you would release me when you felt the security of the mattress, but when you did not, I had to resign myself to lie beside you. I waited for you to relax into the bed and release me, but you never did."

Lies. It is a lie, but I do not know how to translate it into the truth. Certainly the is some truth within it, but he is representing it in a way that makes him feel more superior. Perhaps I had grabbed a hold of his shirt, or even unconsciously put my arms around his neck, but either way it would have been in order to steady myself in his hold—though I doubt he needed help, my human mind cannot think that deeply when asleep. Such an act could have continued until he maneuvered me into bed, but I should have let go then. Maybe I did, but then why did he stay?

Suddenly, the words flow out of my mouth even before I understand them. "You found me asleep in the sitting room and feared I would be uncomfortable. Knowing I was asleep, you opted to carry me to bed, hoping I would never know of your concern or generosity. I clung to you as you carried me, but only in order to steady myself, which was probably unnecessary, but my human instinct would only know I was suddenly in the air, not who was holding me there. Of course standing over the bed, I still held on. How was I supposed to know we had reached our destination? You probably resigned yourself then and there to use it as an excuse and got onto the bed with me."

The Goblin King stares at me, stunned.

"I was asleep, so I do not know, but that seems just as likely a series of events of your version. In either case, you cannot pretend to be the martyr. Do not think that I am not aware that you held me in your sleep." My cheeks burned with the admission, but it was necessary to prove that he was a willing victim, if a victim at all.

I immediately regret it. Jareth is walking toward me in long, even strides and I do not like the look in his eyes. This is probably the farthest place from where I originally intended our conversation to go.

The distance between us closes rapidly even though I step back until I can go no farther. The stone wall is cold against my back, but I cannot will myself to move. Jareth and I stand toe-to-toe. I was able to maintain eye contact despite my trepidation, but now I am regretting it, as it currently requires me to look at him with an upturned face.

I break eye contact at the shock of feeling his hands snake around my waist and pull me from the wall. For a moment I am grateful to be rid of the cold, but then I realize that this puts me closer to him.

Suddenly, his breath is on my ear. "So, you are 'aware' of me, are you?"

That is not what I meant! I am immediately annoyed at his continued manipulation of my words and actions. I try to push away and tell him so, but I am back against the wall with only a slight movement. I mentally groan. Having him pin me against a wall is no better. In fact, it is worse. I reverse my movement so I am not longer against the cold stones.

I try to make my brain operate despite the sudden circumstances and my heightened annoyance—bordering on anger. I cannot deny what he said. Although that is not what I meant by my words, it is also not untrue.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it." I do not dare turn my face up to look at him. We are too close together as it is, though we only touch where his hands hold me on either side of my waist.

"I suppose not, but that does not mean it is not true."

Jareth is too cunning. How do I get out of this? His hold is too firm to break by going to one side or the other, and there is a wall behind me. I am a mere mortal; I cannot transport myself at will. No disappearing or walking through walls; no right, left, back, or forward.

Wait. If he is acting like, does that mean…? I jerk my head up sharply and search his eyes demandingly, using my wet-behind-the-ears woman's intuition in full force. What I see is both encouraging and frightening, but it is definitely not _lingering_ attraction. Whether or not he has forgiven me my perceived injustices against him, his infatuation with me has either grown, or he has grown bolder, or perhaps he has acknowledged its existence when he did not before recognize it.

"Jareth," I begin, and I have his complete attention. I am finding it difficult to concentrate with the close proximity and the realizations buzzing in my mind. "Jareth," I begin again, "may I stay?"

Well, _that_ was not what I expected to say.

Apparently, it was not what Jareth expected me to say, either, because he lets go of me and takes a step backward, staring at me in open shock.

I gaze at the Goblin King with more determination than I feel and take a step toward him—tentativeness disguised by shear willpower. Now our roles are reversed as I pursue him to the opposing wall as he walks backward. With a satisfied smirk I pin Jareth against the stone wall. His eyes tell of amazement and admiration and I am goaded on.

"May I stay?" I state, more than ask. "I _want_ to stay." I feel him shiver. Ha! Mother was right that even inexperienced women have the upper hand. "Of course, the terms of my residence here are not without stipulations."

With the mention of terms and stipulations, Jareth begins to resume his usual demeanor. He says nothing, but clearly asks for an explanation by slowly raising an elegant eyebrow up in question. I step back, creating a more comfortable amount of space between us.

"I can't just disappear from the human world without warning. I have to give notice at work, make a suitable excuse for disappearing to some place far away and not exactly tourist-friendly, and force Dad to accept the money I owe him." And then there is the matter of how exactly I will… support myself here. Where will I live? What will I do? Can I stay by your side, or are you going to battle your infatuation with anger the way I battled mine with fear? And can we even develop our feelings into something more than base attraction? Are you willing to love me?

"You want to go back?"

You cannot ask me to choose between family and you, Jareth, not again. Disappearing without notice is different from leaving your parents to cleave unto another. "I _need_ to go back, for at least a few weeks. But then I will return, happily."

"I told you that I do not have the power to return you."

"But you implied that _I_ might." There is a reason why I wear overly modest clothes and practice meditation—they facilitate control over the slowly growing power I have not been taught to use.

Jareth looks at me, as if considering my suggestion.

"Close your eyes."

"What?" I am still hesitant to trust him.

"Close your eyes, Sarah," he coaxes, "I have to—look into your mind to confirm or disprove my suspicions and therefore find the way by which you can go home."

He is being honest; I can tell. I do not know how I know, just that I do, but I am also well aware of a dark flash in his eyes that says he is still scheming, that he still has and plans on maintaining control.

Biting my cheek, I close my eyes. "You're not going to look at my memories or something like that, are you?"

I feel a gloved finger on each temple and hear a soft laugh. "No, nothing like that."

I hope he is not lying. I would rather keep my memories of the goblins and my friends and certain dreams private from him.

We stay like that for a long moment.

Finally, he removes his fingers from my temples and I open my eyes.

He smirks. "It is as I suspected."

I take a deep breath. "Well?"

"I cannot take you home."

"What?"

"Sorry, that is not entirely accurate. I have the power to take you back, but so do you. There is something blocking you from using that power to return yourself, and that same thing will prevent me from returning you as well."

"Is there a way to remove that… block?"

"That depends on you."

"Care to explain?" I ask curtly, my patience running out.

"Sarah, Sarah," Jareth chastises.

"Sorry, of the many immature qualities I have transformed, impatience is not one of them. You have no room to talk, anyway." Stupid, stupid Sarah, inciting the anger of the Goblin King.

Surprisingly, he smiles with genuine amusement. "I suppose there is no use in trying to deny that." He pauses, and picks up the other trail of conversation where we left off. "If you will let me explain—"

I nod my head

"—power, the kind of power I, _and you_, have, is based foremost in our needs and wants. For lack of a more accurate description: we translate willpower into magic. When someone is unlearned and unpracticed in its use, the willpower that is drawn upon is from the most basic needs. Of course, most needs are met by other means, along with the needs that are not so base, and so our power is based on our deepest desires and then branches out into our lesser wants."

I fidget uncomfortable under his stare, trying to process his words. I skim over the part about his power and mine and concentrate on his explanation of how the power works.

"So, because I don't actually _want_ to go back, my power won't take me there."

I look up and observe his smirk with a frustrated sigh.

"Something like that, love."

"I doubt that all _your_… magic tricks," he cringes at the term, "are based on your deepest desires. You suggested that once such things are met, the willpower can come from lesser wants."

"_Magic tricks_ are what humans call the works of illusionists, _Sarah_." Oh no, the Goblin King is angry. "My, your, _our_ power should not be associated with something so—_degrading_." Yes, definitely angry.

I gulp. "Sorry, your majesty."

"Sarah, I believe I told you to call me Jareth."

"Jareth," I whisper.

He smirks. "What was that? I did not hear you."

Gr. "Jareth," I state, louder this time.

"Good girl," he drawls, patronizingly, and looks at me expectantly.

I stare back.

"Well, are you going to apologize?"

"For what?"

"For… degrading me, and yourself, and _disobeying_ me." He smiles like the Cheshire Cat.

"I thought you didn't want me to treat you as a king, _your majesty_," I reply, forgetting my own safety.

Luckily, he laughs rather than angers. "Then—how do the humans say it?—kiss and make up."

My eyes grow wide. "What!?" Giving him an apologetic and grateful kiss on the cheek was only fun when it was a surprise. His eyes dance with good-humored mischief, though, goading me on in my desire to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Sorry," I apologize, "for belittling your power, and for not calling you 'Jareth' as you _requested_" not commanded. As I spoke, I maneuvered myself so the distance between us to almost nothing. Rising on my toes and aiming for his cheek, I close my eyes and pucker my lips ever so slightly. Peeking out from one eye, I see he has succumbed and closed his eyes as well. Suppressing a chuckle, I change direction at the last moment and brush his lips with mine ever so slightly.

I pull away and skip out of the room. Sitting amongst the wealth of furs and blankets and velvets, I call "Now will you tell me how to work around the whole 'greater desires and lesser wants' thing?"


	7. Magic

Sorry for the comparative delay in posting this chapter, but I am still earlier than my self-imposed week deadline! I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend. Welcome to my new followers and favoriters and to **Juniperose** for the encouragement. Thank you, readers!

Without further ado:

Chapter Seven

Magic

For almost a week, I spend my mornings learning rudimentary magic from Jareth. When he retires to his study, or the throne room, or some other place of duty, I explore the castle, venture into Goblin City, wander the castle grounds and nearer parts of the Labyrinth, and read in the library. I finish each day with supper with Jareth and then spend too long in the steaming pool that serves as a bath before falling into an empty bed. I quickly learn to request darker colored clothing, but never ask for a replacement for my nightshirt, though I consider stealing another one since Jareth's scent is beginning to fade from it. He still "accidently" sleeps elsewhere, so the sheets are losing his scent as well. (He smells of charcoal and wood smoke and damp earth and crisp air—if that can have a smell.)

Tentatively, I let Jareth observe my already established relationship with the goblins. He says nothing, but I think that he already knew. I risk asking to see my friends, and I am relieved to hear his acquiescence, so my afternoons become even busier.

It is growing close to the end of my vacation time in the human world, and I know I have to return soon in order to not be missed.

"As one gains greater control over their power, it will not need to revert to the subconscious desires in order to find an outlet," Jareth explains once again, but continues with a new idea. "Despite the unexpected speed with which you are learning, it will take longer than you want for you to have enough power to independently translocate from the Underground." For that, apparently, is what the whole of this land is called. "I think our best course of action is that _I_ take you. The resistance should not be so strong since you have learned some control. If I go with you, you will not have _that_ desire interfering," he smirks at me, "and if you plan on the trip being temporary, and tell yourself that it is a need—though it is a need for others and not yourself—you should be able to manipulate yourself into returning home."

We decide to wait a day or two before trying.

%%%

The sun is low in the sky and I sit in Jareth's study in the waning light, my feet propped up on a now paperless desk. The layer of dust in the room has magically disappeared and several of the books have traded places. The cleanliness and organization are courtesy of my magic lessons. Jareth has taken a rare day away from his usual duties. I chuckle at a few of the books that have made their way to Jareth from the human world.

I nod toward several familiar books on his desk. "Where did you get those?"

"The goblins."

"The goblins gave you _books_?"

"The goblins steal _things_, Sarah, without caring much _what_ they are stealing."

I wonder if the Goblin Kingdom is the land of lost and lonely because the things have been stolen, or if the things are stolen because they are lost and lonely.

Deciding to direct the conversation away from my unspoken question and back to my original thought, I nonchalantly comment "Goblins make great couriers as well as great thieves."

Jareth honors the statement with a turn of his head and one arched eyebrow but says nothing. He is, by far, intelligent enough to understand my meaning without having to say it aloud. After a moment of consideration, Jareth returns his gaze to the Labyrinth. I look away from the penultimate intrigue of the maze and resume my unabashed study of Jareth's features and expression.

When he is in thought it is more often than not too difficult to discern his mood. I have realize over the course of my stay here, though, that contrary to my initial assumption, the Goblin King does not mask his emotion. He is, after all, the king. He has no need to hide the fact that he is irritated, angry, disappointed, happy, proud, or self-assured as the case may be. As a refined individual he is, of course, in control of his expressions, but he has no reason to hide them. This calls to my forethought several issues.

There are several important conversational topics which we have successfully avoided. They are all interrelated. None of them are safe, but I choose the one that is the least dangerous.

Rising from my—his—chair, I wander to the window and observe the Labyrinth and the twisted, ever-changing glory of its plethora of environs. Apparently, I have stood here gazing out for longer than intended, because Jareth's voice breaks me from my reverie.

"Do you grow bored of looking out?"

I pause a moment, reflecting. "Bored? What a funny concept, to grow bored of something ever-changing. Well, funny for a human at least."

I turn fully toward the window, take a step forward and lean against the sill, drinking in the sight I could stare at all day and trying to ignore the closeness to Jareth that my actions produced.

"I could never grow bored of it. In fact, I have to resist the urge to go lose myself in it."

After another moment of staring at the beauty of the Labyrinth, I become aware of Jareth's eyes trained on me and have to exert self-control in order to avoid squirming under his gaze. His look is knowing, and that thought brings back a momentary memory.

"_Why do you stare at him with that knowing look, Sarah?"_

"_What are you talking about, Hoggle?"_

"_You look at him like you know something he doesn't know."_

"_Well, I suppose I do."_

_I startle as I feel an arm snake around my waist possessively. Jareth pulls me into an awkward embrace and I feel Hoggle's presence disappear._

_He leans down and whispers in my ear, "What do you know that I don't, and how do you know it?"_

_I laugh airily. He is answering the first question himself. "Woman's intuition," I answer the second._

"_And the answer to the first question?"_

"_You have already answered it," I admit._

_Jareth growls. "I'll beat the answer out of you if I have to, Sarah." It is lighthearted, so I do not fear._

_I release a laugh through my nose. "More likely to kiss it out of me."_

_Surprised, his grip on me loosens. "What?"_

"_And that's all the answer you're going to get!" I snake out of his slack arms and skip backwards and out of his view._

A hand on my shoulder startles me from remembrance. I did not even notice Jareth move. I do not look at him, but innately know that he is looking at me with questioning amusement in his eyes. The sun was setting, bathing everything in red and gold. It was breathtakingly beautiful and so I found myself once again distracted.

"Tomorrow will be a long day, princess, so perhaps you should retire?" He phrases it as a question or suggestion and not an order, and I appreciate that. I ignore the pet name.

Obligingly, I set out for the bedroom. After a characteristically long bath, I risk Jareth's wrath and sneak into his wardrobe to steal another shirt, black this time. I am about to habitually fall into the empty bed when I realize I never addressed any of the needed conversational topics, not even the least dangerous one. They can all wait, I suppose. The others can wait until my return if need be, but that one will need to be addressed before I return to the human world, or at least before I contact anyone there.

Perhaps I can gradually broach the topic. Or accustomed Jareth—and myself—to the idea I have settled on. With foolish determination I return to the study where I know Jareth has remained.

"Are you coming to bed?"

If my life was more of a comedy—and Jareth was not the ever-graceful Goblin King—I might expect a spit-take, if Jareth had a beverage in hand. When I planted a kiss on his cheek the night he returned I ran away without waiting to ascertain his surprise. Even so, I am sure the surprise then cannot hold a candle to the expression he openly wears now. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from releasing a laugh that is inexplicably forming in my throat.

Gaining control of my faculties, I am proud to say, before Jareth, I roll my eyes and clarify, "Not _that_ way."

If Goblin Kings can blush, or perhaps flush, then Jareth is doing so now, though barely. I wonder if that was or was not the connotation he assumed from my words and what his different reactions would be in each circumstance.

"I cannot in good conscience steal your bed, and yet you have made it perfectly clear you will allow me to sleep nowhere else. Therefore the only remaining solution is for you to _share_, not _give_."

I know I will win this argument, but I hope I do not have to resort to more drastic measures to convince him. We have to act at least congenial toward each other if my plan is to succeed and neither stubbornness nor awkwardness will not help.

He does not answer by word, but by action. With dash only possible from Jareth, he stands. After he passes me in the doorway with nonchalance, I let show my smirk to rival a Goblin King's. I follow a pace behind and proceed to ignore his presence for the sake of my sanity. Falling onto the bed as is my tradition, I curl into a ball in his black shirt, squeeze my eyes closed, and try to stop the function of my ears, chanting to myself that this is all for the sake of my plan while an underlying train of thought tries to make me admit that I like it.

%%%

I stretch languidly. Since when am _I_ languid? I wonder if the movement is also graceful… But I digress. Probably because I do not want to admit that I am stretching _in Jareth's sleeping embrace_. And that I am quite comfortable there.

Balderdash. Not really, but I w—desire.

Today will be our first (and hopefully final) attempt at taking me to the human world. I still have not disclosed to Jareth how I plan to bow out of the human world, but I think that conversation, and the one about his _clothes_, are better left for later. Or maybe I am procrastinating.

"Good morning."

The low hum of Jareth's voice jolts me from my thoughts and I ignore the tingle it sends down my spine, and the brief thought that I will not mind if my plan gets out of hand.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Jareth!" I roll around in place to face my absurd bedfellow. "I—we are still in bed!" Oh, bog, I never thought I would say _that_.

Apparently he has a similar thought. Oh, bog, why am I melting at his smile? I am supposed to put off any _thoughts_ of _plans_ to broach _the_ topic. It is by far the most dangerous and the least needed right now.

Jumping out of his hold and off the bed, I say "Well, since you are so anxious to go, let us get ready." With attempted panache, I offer my hand though he needs no assistance in rising.

Bad idea.

Five minutes later I still have not convinced Jareth to let go of me. Men will be men boys, I guess, whether human or goblin, and no matter how old—fourteen or fourteen hundred (not that I know how old Jareth is, but considering the creatures of his realm, goblin or not, are immortal, he is certainly older than he looks—which has only seemed to be younger each day).

The twilight sun is strengthening. "We can sleep in a few hours when it is nighttime where I used to live. If we do not go soon, we will not have time to do anything." If my calculations are correct it is evening there.

Reluctantly—I least I think he is—Jareth releases me. I begin to make my way to the dressing room, a corner of which holds my clothes from my arrival and the few dresses Jareth managed to procure for me since my arrival.

I _feel_ his smirk.

Magic lessons. Right.

I am rather bad at this. Summoning is difficult, but I can move things by something akin to telekinesis. No instant wardrobe changes like Jareth (yet), but I do not have to go to the dressing room. Closing my eyes, I call for my things—a black dress that is short-sleeved and knee-length (my favorite since I am finally able to expose skin as I want instead of covering myself more than sometimes needful for sake of suppressing my power), black gloves, and black slippers. Taking them in arm, and making sure Jareth has translocated himself elsewhere, I change my clothes and put up my hair with the assistance of my newly developed powers. Apparently, summoning and translocation are extensions of telekinesis, but I am not that talented yet.

When I exit to the sitting room, Jareth is already ready. His change of clothing includes the shirt I wore last night. I attempt to raise an eyebrow but say nothing. He leans next to the large fireplace, tapping his thin scepter against his leather boots in open impatience. There is a small breakfast set on the dining table. Ignoring Jareth's impatience I pour myself some juice and drain the goblet. I grab a hunk of bread and slather butter on it and snatch an apple. With my mouth full of soft, warm, slightly sweet bread and too much butter, I mosey over to his highness. He looks down his nose at me. I smile widely. The truth is I am rather nervous and I do not know how to deal with that. He tempers his impatience as I finish my breakfast. Only Jareth can stand aloof when he is three feet away.

"Are you ready?" Jareth offers me a gloved hand.

"As I'll ever be." I accept the proffered hand with my own gloved one. There is something surreal about that action.

Unexpectedly, Jareth begins taking my glove off. I tilt my head. Even before, in the human world, there was nothing dangerous about exposing my skin, but it was significantly easier to suppress the powers I wanted to deny having by covering myself, especially my hands. I do not know how I figured that out. Even though my presence in the Goblin Kingdom apparently enhances my control and abilities, I have still been wearing gloves here.

"Physical contact might be necessary. It will enhance my power over you."

I shudder at those words. Although I have gained a modicum of control over my power, I am unable to summon let alone translocate, let alone to the human world. Jareth has to take me there. We are working around the still-rouge part of my power, which is obeying my desire to stay in the Goblin Kingdom.

Jareth opens my hand and splays my fingers. I hold my hand in that position when he releases it, and he grabs me by the wrist. My eyes widen as he places my hand flat on his chest and medallion in the low cut of his shirt. The material of the pendant is unnaturally warm unlike the metal which it appears to be made of. Still consumed by the sensation, Jareth pulls me close to him, my elbow bending so that I maintain my hand's place. I close my eyes as Jareth wraps his arms around me and bends down to whisper in my ear.

"Now, tell your surroundings 'goodbye' and that you will return soon."

I say the words in my mind, trying to ignore the firmness of Jareth's hold.

"Out loud."

Eyes still closed, I say "Goodbye everyone." Even the inanimate objects here are worthy of personification. "I will see you soon." I feel silly.

"Now focus on me."

As if I could avoid that. I push aside all my worries. I stop my unsuccessful attempt at disregarding Jareth. I focus on the feel of the pendant on my palm, Jareth's earthy scent, the sound of his breathing, how his hair brushes my face, how strong his embrace is.

"Open your eyes, precious."

I remain still, but open one eye. Apparently I nuzzled into Jareth. I lift my head and see that I am in the main room of my apartment. Opening my other eye and stepping back in excitement, I find myself smiling widely.

"You did it!"

Jareth looks smug, but allows "In this circumstance, it was not myself alone who accomplished the task" as he hands me my glove.

I give him a mock stern look as I replace the glove on my hand. "Whatever help I lent was by _your_ instruction."

I bend down to my calendar clock. My estimate is correct: it is seven-thirty at night, on the Friday before I am scheduled to return to work. I look around. Everything is in order. Gelda, who has been absent since Jareth's arrival at the castle, must have returned to clean and tidy fully. With a sudden realization, I run over to my small fridge. It is almost empty. Everything that would have expired in the last two weeks is gone. I check the trash. It is empty, with a new bag lining the can. Satisfied, I turn to Jareth, who has seated himself on my sofa. Even in my humble apartment he manages to look regal.

I walk from the kitchenette to stand before him. "Thank you so much Jareth," I begin, and decide to sit beside him. "It puts my mind at ease knowing that I can say goodbye and leave my associates with an excuse for my absence so they do not worry."

I look over at him tentatively. We still have not had any of those important conversations. One of which is necessary for the execution of my plan here in the human world.

"I do have another favor to ask of you though." He glances at me, elegantly if a glance can be elegant, and nods his head slightly, instructing me to continue. "I need an excuse to give my family for my apparently sudden departure. It is not unheard of to disappear, but those are by criminal action or running away and not the best way of leaving. The majority of humans tend to stay in place unless a change of circumstance dictates otherwise: going to a new school, accepting a new job, perhaps changing environment to make a fresh start, or moving to be with family."

Jareth nods his understanding.

"I am finished with university. Although I could claim to continue my schooling, that would not be a permanent departure and could be easily disproven. I do not have a job or potential career that would cause me to move away, believably. I could always say I am leaving to make a fresh start, but everyone would worry about me going without a job or place to stay. That leaves only the excuse of family, perhaps combined with one of the others on the part of the family member, explaining why it is so far away.

"Of course, everyone knows my family, even my biological mother's, enough to know I am lying if I make up anything about them, so I have to use my own family. The only circumstance under which one has their own disconnected family is by—relationship." I cringe at the rather vague word.

Jareth raises an eyebrow and I know he understands.

But I have to say it anyway. "By relationship I mean a boyfriend, as humans call it, or a spouse. Of course, no one would believe me if I said I was running away with my boyfriend, even if he was going to some third world country where I could not contact him unless I was with him. Meaning that I have to pretend to have a fiancé—only fiancé because I cannot have gotten married without telling my family. And as I mentioned before, it is a good idea to combine that with him leaving to some remote location for the sake of work, school, or self exploration, or something."

"You want me to play that role." It was not a question. It was a statement. An amused statement. Oh, bog, Jareth is _always_ amused. Sometimes I wonder what is so funny. Even when he is upset, impatient, annoyed, arrogant, serious, pondering, or any other apparently opposing state of mind, there is still underlying amusement in his features. Perhaps it is just self-confidence.

"Yes," I answer simply, pulling my mind away from the digression.

"You ask so much, Sarah," he whispers.

And the first thought in my mind is "Not _too_ much?" Did I say that out loud? It is not a question seeking self-assurance, but a questioning of his word choice.

"For you, nothing is too much."

I stare at Jareth, disbelieving. I made my request of him knowing that it is cruel and, for me, dangerous. After all, he once pled with me be his and I rejected him, and now I am asking him to pretend as if I _am_ his despite whatever pain, sorrow, or anger I left him with.

"But it is cruel," I admit.

A hint of a smirk plays at the edge of his lips. "And I am not?"

I look at the Goblin King. Of course he can be cruel, but for some reason my mind is blank of all the reasons I had previously convinced myself made him a villain. He once said that we were both cruel and he accepted that.

"Yes. I suppose it matters to you as little now as it did then."

"It matters very much, Sarah, but does not procured the results you expect."

"Well, nothing is as it seems," I quip, rising from the couch and shaking off the awkwardness.

I notice my handbag and the clothes I wore Monday sitting on the arm of the sofa. I left them in Alice's car. I never even thought of having them moved, but I am glad Gelda (presumably) did. I rummage through it to find my phone.

"I need to call my parents to let them know I am home and see if we can visit tomorrow, than we can talk about the rest of my plan."

I plug in my cell phone, the battery long ago drained. I will have to wait a moment before I can use it. Jareth looks bored.

"The apartment is minute and the view uninteresting, but you should be able to occupy yourself for three minutes in exploration," I suggest, breathing out a laugh. "We can go out, if you would like. It is too late to visit anyone, but perhaps we can dine out or go shopping or—"

My phone trills, cutting me off, and indicating I can use it now. I smile apologetically at Jareth and push the speed-dial for Dad's cell phone as Jareth rises to explore.

"Hi, Sarah!" It is Karen.

"Hi, Mom. I was just calling to let everyone know I am back safely from vacation."

"Thank you. We were a little bit worried when you didn't call, but then Alice said you accidently left your phone in her car. It was probably relaxing not to have the demand of everyone calling you, though. I am just glad you didn't leave your entire purse! Still, you could have used a payphone or the hotel's phone…"

"Ya," I reply blandly, ignoring her chastisement. I glance at Jareth, now looking in the refrigerator, and wonder how the cover story was started. "I had a good time… May I come over tomorrow? I don't know if you have plans, so I wanted to ask first."

"Of course, honey. You are going back to work Monday, right? And full time, too."

"Yes, Mom. Though I don't think I will work there long now that I have graduated," I hint.

"Oh, that's too bad. Everyone there loves you! And it is such a good job for a young adult. Do you have another job lined up?"

"Not exactly," I admit. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," I hint further, "Can I bring over a friend?"

Karen hesitates, probably wondering about the specific definition of "friend" in my question. "Of course, Sarah."

"Good. Thank you. Bye! I'll let him know." I hang up without waiting for her to exclaim "Him!?" with uncontained excitement. I know she is doing so right now, despite the silence greeting her.

"Well," I begin, addressing the room in general more than Jareth specifically, "that set the stage."


	8. Meet the Parents

So, this was up a lot LOT quicker than I expected. No promises about the next chapter except that I give myself a week deadline.

Chapter Eight

Meet the Parents

I turn to Jareth, who is studying the scene visible from the largest window of the apartment. I walk up beside him and follow his gaze.

"It could never be as interesting as the Labyrinth," I say, gesturing to the view, "but the humans can sometimes be as endearing as the goblins." Jareth snorts as I point to a little girl sleeping in her father's arms as he walks from their car toward their apartment. I look at him, ready to chastise him for snorting about the cuteness of a little girl when I realize he was snorting about me calling the goblins endearing. I turn back to the window and watch the two disappear through their doorway. "But the view is interesting enough for occasional pondering." I have the scene memorized from staring out the window so often.

Jareth says nothing, but I know he has acknowledged my words. I go back to sit on the sofa.

"I will stay up until, perhaps, midnight and then have a short night, since it is now morning in the Labyrinth and I am still wide away from a good night's sleep." I ignore Jareth's unspoken reaction to that statement. "We will have to prepare a few things before you can meet my family, but cannot leave until later in the morning—perhaps ten—so if you meet me at nine then that should be sufficient. I will have a few hours between waking to get ready and pack, then, and that is helpful, too."

Jareth looks at me with an unreadable expression. "I do not plan on leaving."

I tilt my head. "Excuse me?"

"I am suppressing your magic from finding a way of returning you to the Goblin Kingdom." Translation: His presence here negates my desire to go to the Goblin Kingdom because I want _him_, not the Labyrinth.

"But I was fine before."

"You had a piece of the Goblin Kingdom here, with your goblins" (_my_ goblins?) "and your friends, and you only spent ten hours there before, so the pull was only fractionally as strong."

I sigh. He is right, I am sure. "Okay, but we will have to find you a place to stay."

He says nothing, but looks at me coolly.

"The entire apartment is smaller than your bedroom. Although my pull-down bed is for two people by human standards," (I am lucky to have a queen-size Murphy bed) "I do not want to assume you will stay in this small, drab space or share my humble bed. I can arrange for a rented room." I do not have much in the way of extra funds (I calculated after my wonderings about traveling Europe) but I can manage.

"That will not be necessary."

"Are you sure?"

Jareth looks at me, annoyed.

"You are not the only spoiled one," I comment with attempted disinterest, "I just wanted to make sure."

After a moment of silence, I decide to break the awkward atmosphere. "It is late evening here, so there is not much to do. We can go for a walk now while there is still light, or shopping while the stores are still open. We can dine out, or watch a movie, or we can stay here and read or play games. I do not have cable, but I do have the internet." He does not know what half of that means does he?

I sigh. "Sorry, that was probably overwhelming." I pause and begin again, editing my options to more familiar activities. "We can stay in the studio—if you do not mind the cramped space—and read or play games or just talk. If you do not mind altering your appearance for the evening, we can dine out or go shopping." I look at him. "We will have to go shopping anyway, but I planned on doing so tomorrow morning and just pushing back our meeting with my family."

"Then let us go tonight, so we can join your family earlier."

I pull back a corner of my mouth in thought. It is a good idea. My parents will have little time to adjust to the idea of me leaving, so a few extra hours with them will be welcome. "Good idea," I admit aloud.

Standing up, I openly appraise Jareth's appearance. I ignore my inner voice's narrative singing of praises of his body while I try to find the particulars that make him inhuman or otherwise eyecatching.

"To what extent can you alter within a form?" It is a rather personal question, so I ask it in a soft tone of voice, and quickly explain myself. "We need you to look… human."

Of course he can alter forms, and I have noticed that the markings around his eyes change, but I do not know if he can alter himself otherwise within one form.

"I can style you with my… human resources to make you blend in more, but I thought it would look more natural if you did it yourself."

Jareth still is not saying anything. Is he concentrating?

He must be, because I blink and suddenly his markings are gone—or skin-colored. The tilt of his eyebrows is drawn downward at the outer edges. Wow. Well, that takes care of that.

"That's amazing," I praise aloud.

Now for the hair. I really do not want him to mess with his hair. I rummage through the bathroom and emerge with a hair tie and gel, neither of which I use but somehow made their way to the depth of my cabinet. Instructing him to sit, and not relieving him of his obvious curiosity, I somehow manage to tame his hair into a respectable man-ponytail. I fish a man's fedora (if not for Gelda I would probably own more men's fashion than women's) from the top of my wardrobe and place it, slightly askew, on his head. I hope that that will tame the remaining wispy ends.

"Sorry about that," I say as I step away. "I hate gel and hair ties," I pause as he rises, "and I really hate to do that to your hair," I admit.

I appraise his clothing again. There really is nothing to be done about it. "A coat will have to do," I sigh as I search through the small coat closet, looking for another victim of my man-clothing obsession.

I find a dark pea coat and instruct Jareth to put it on. He obliges me in silence. I surreptitiously check the length. Good. It is just long enough to hide how tight his trousers are in… certain areas. His slim trousers and knee-high boots actually look good with the pea coat and fedora, and the gloves match the style I accidently created. I give myself a mental pat on the back and guide Jareth to my full-length mirror.

"See, you look good."

I glance at the clock as Jareth appraises himself. It is approaching eight o'clock, so we have approximately two hours in which to shop.

One lesson on seatbelts later, Jareth and I enter the nearby mall. His expression is schooled, but I can tell he is drinking in the interesting human behavior all around us. I watch Jareth as I consider where to go.

"You are openly staring at me, Sarah," Jareth leans close to whisper in a mock incredulous tone.

"Is there anything wrong with staring at one's fiancé, openly or not?" I ask, reminding him of our game and because I want to relish calling him my fiancé.

Jareth is apparently pleasantly surprised by my assertive answer, but changes the subject. "Where to, my love?"

"There is a high-end department store at the other end of the mall that is promising, and a men's department store on the way there that has business clothes—formal, dress, and casual. There are too middling stores right here, though, that we should look at first."

Jareth's facial expression remains almost neutral, but I can tell he is withholding a comment about the choice of store. The man is so spoiled!

"Sorry, but it is my money so you'll have to do this my way. I promise you don't have to get anything you don't want to, but we should at least look."

I take him by the hand and pull him toward the first store before he can protest.

I have no luck in the first two stores so, resigned, I guide Jareth to the men's business clothing store. I manage to convince him to select slacks that are not so snug on the condition that he can wear his boots underneath. Along with the several pairs of slacks and a rather nondescript belt, a variety of collared shirts of varying formalities make their way into my arms. None are snug in the chest, so he can still wear his medallion underneath, and all of them are long-sleeved so his gloves will not seem as out-of-place. We go to the store at the end of the mall for a look-see and end up with a nothing more than a jacket.

It is ten o'clock and the stores are closing. The hallway of the mall will be open for another fifteen or thirty minutes as the lingering teenagers are herded out. We exit at the first opportunity even though that means walking outside for a while. The air is cool, but the heat of the day lingers despite the earlier rain shower so it is not frigid outside. Of course, I forgot a jacket and I am still in my short dress and ballet-style shoes and that are not warm enough for this night. Jareth offers his—my—coat, but I refuse. We did not have time for him to change clothes; I am not letting him be seen in public like that. He puts his arm around me instead and I let myself savor the closeness. I am going to be spoiled for two weeks. And then be rather lonely afterward. At least I will have Hoggle and Sir Didymus and Ludo and the goblins and the Labyrinth. I sigh.

When we return to the flat, I make room in my wardrobe and use the extra hangers for Jareth's new things. With a sigh, I turn to him sitting on the sofa.

"So—" I begin, but Jareth interrupts.

"I have something for you."

He summons a crystal to his upturned fingertips and then it vanishes. At first I notice nothing in its place, but then I see something dangling from his hand. I step closer. It is a necklace, a gold chain necklace to be exact. I stare. Jareth motions with his other hand and in my stupor I obediently turn around. He secures it around my neck. I look down. It has to be worth as much as the wardrobe I just purchased for him, which is quite a lot by my standards. I think I will be able to pay back Dad only by working the next two weeks.

"As return payment for the clothing," Jareth says in way of explanation.

Well this is not awkward at all. I glance at the clock. We have only been awake for a few hours, but we will have to go to sleep at some point tonight for a semi decent amount of time in order to adjust to the time zone. What to do in the meantime? Oh!

I sit down. "So, we have to talk."

Jareth looks at me expectantly, that underlying amused expression annoying me once again. I noticed a few old looks when we were at the mall, the is-that-your-daughter-or-your-girlfriend type of looks. Which begs the question, "How old are we going to say you are?"

Jareth seems surprised for a moment. "How old do I look?"

I study his face intently. I am not good at estimating ages. Humans have such a wide variety of looks for any given age, depending on their genetics and experiences and even their mood. It seems to be the same with him. When he still had that tired look about him he appeared... forty would be my guess. Now he looks significantly younger. He definitely cannot convincingly say he is in his twenties, though.

"Your thirties," I say, deciding, "most convincingly mid-thirties." Or late-thirties. "We can say thirty-four. I don't think that would be pushing it."

"And how old are you?"

Jareth knows how old I am, I am sure, but the point of the question is to point out our apparent age difference—not that it would matter to him; not that it matters to me; our age difference is infinitely greater than that.

"That would make a fifteen year difference," I answer his implied questions, "and yes, humans tend to scrutinize greater difference in ages, especially when the youngest is still quite young—which I am."

There are other matters we need to work out as well: we need to make up the rest of his story, and how we met. "Here is my plan: we will meet my parents tomorrow, and perhaps my friends on Sunday or some evening next week. On Monday I will give notice at work—that means I will tell them I plan on quitting but am giving them advance notice of two weeks during which I will work while they look for a replacement. Oh! I have to find out about moving out of this," I gesture dismissively to the small flat. "We have to figure out how to break the news to everyone, and we have to make up a back story for you and for us. And it is best to use as much truth as possible, that way we—I do not have as great a risk of being caught in our lies or forgetting anything."

We decide to tell the truth about when we met but say it was in the park I used to practice my acting (play pretend) in, and stretch the truth about our correspondence in the last three and a half years to seems like we exchanged letters and gifts of friendship that slowly evolved into love letters. We will admit that we met again during my "vacation" and spent a lot of time together between his work and my fun. As for his back-story, we will admit that he is a foreigner, but British (I think that is the most believable) and independently wealthy but with the work necessary to maintain an estate and social status.

%%%

I wake up in an odd mixture of relaxed and uncomfortable. My bed is not nearly as comfortable as Jareth's, but he has managed to secure me in an embrace again while I slept, so the calm he produces in my body almost rectifies the discomfort of my mattress. I assess the level of light behind my eyelids. It is fully light outside, but the sun rises early so that does not give me a very specific estimate of the time. I open my eyes and orient myself, searching for the glowing face of my digital clock. It is eight o'clock in the morning. I slept a full night. Wow. How is that even possible, considering I was only awake five or six hours before going to sleep?

Jareth nuzzles the back of my neck in sleep, reminding me of the possible—and likely—reason for my sleepiness. Oh, bog! Why does he have to be so attached to me in sleep!? I do not want to move!

With a sigh I mentally berate myself for playing with fire and getting myself into this mess in the first place. Of course, I am not really remorseful. Stupid little girl, what are you afraid of?

"Good morning."

Oh, bog that feels good. (Why am I saying 'oh, bog' so much?) I revel in the warmth of his greeting for a moment before wriggling from his hold and scampering to the kitchenette for orange juice.

"We can leave any time now. My parents will have breakfast for us," I explain as I rinse out my cup.

Jareth is sitting on the couch in acceptably human-looking clothes. His hair is pulled back and is staying put without gel or hat. (Are you envious?) The bed is folded away, presumably neatly made and the pillows stuffed into the cabinet. I wi—would like to be able to do all that in an instant…

A fifteen-minute drive later, I am standing in front of my parent's door. I glance at the hall clock through the lace-curtained window. Eight-thirty. Everyone should be awake, especially since Robby's car is in the driveway. I should have known Karen would call him home for an emergency when she heard me say I am bringing a "him." I would usually just walk in, but since I have an uninitiated guest, I have to ring the doorbell.

Usually Karen opens the door, but when your daughter brings a man home, that becomes the father's job, apparently. I try to be happy and disinterested in order to overcome the awkwardness.

"Good morning, Daddy!" I pull him into a hug by his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek before releasing him. I am not overdoing it, I promise. That is what I always do when I am happy to see him. "I missed you."

I think he eyes Jareth and mumbles something about doubting that, but I ignore it.

"Daddy, this is Jareth." Notice how I did not say 'friend' or 'boyfriend' or 'fiancé' or anything definite? "Jareth, this is my father, Robert."

They shake hands and exchange polite greetings and Karen rescues us from the threat of an awkward standoff by ushering us inside and away from the encroaching warmth. I Jareth to her, and then to Robby who has also made his way into the hall. Freddy comes running (or something as close to running as a one-and-a-half-year-old can manage) downstairs at the sound of our voices and captures one of my legs in one arm and one of Robby's in her other.

I pick her up. "And _this_ is Freddy." She stares at Jareth for a moment but then returns to her usual antics as if he is not there. As she scampers off to play, the "adults" head toward the sitting room. Jareth and I lag behind and Toby comes running down the stairs, disheveled—likely from goblin antics—and stops short upon seeing Jareth.

"Jareth!" he yells and attaches himself to the Goblin Kings legs in an enthusiastic hug.

Jareth wears a crooked grin. For a moment I enjoy the unexpected site of the Goblin King enjoying the affection of a child, but then I groan with realization. I forgot Toby remembered him, and I am sure his exclamation was loud enough for my family to hear from the other room. How will I explain that?

I bend down to pick up Toby, but Jareth gets to him first. I stare, open-mouthed, not caring about what I look like. Jareth, the _Goblin King_, is holding a child—and smiling contentedly, as if it is natural. 'It is natural, Sarah,' I remind myself; 'He's a baby snatcher, remember?' How rude of me. But it _is_ disconcerting sight.

I grab for Toby, who protests with an "Aaah!"

Jareth smiles, reassuring him "Tobias Jarethkin, I will play with you later."

Toby smiles at that. "Yay! My punch is a lot stronger now."

So Toby punched Jareth when he was in the castle? Rock on!

I suffocate my smile and glare at Jareth as Toby runs off to join Freddy. Does he know how long I spent retraining the goblins to call Toby 'Toby' or at least 'prince' and _not_ 'Jarethkin.' Despite my success with the goblins, for some reason, in moments of extreme disobedience, Toby only listens to me when I call him 'Tobias Jarethkin' as the Goblin King just did. Now I know the perpetrator of that renaming. We will talk later.

We join my family in the sitting room. They have conveniently left both the couch and an armchair open for occupation. Is this a test to see whether or not we will sit next to each other? Jareth chooses the armchair and I without a sigh of relief at not having to choose. I try to act disinterested as my family chooses innocent conversational topics: the weather, whether or not everyone is enjoying the summer, Dad and Robby's jobs, Toby's preschool, how proud they are of me for my hard work at school and my job.

I wait for the conversation to turn to Jareth, and then _us_. Soon enough, Robby is inquiring about Jareth's work and where he is from and other such basic information. I am grateful that Jareth is an excellent actor. He goes along with our planned back-story and embellishes it with partial truths and white lies.

Karen sneaks over to me on the couch while the men converse. "So, who is this _Jareth Underwood_?" Do not ask me about the surname, it was Jareth's on-the-spot creation.

"Aren't you listening, Mom? Dad and Robby have been making him answer that question in depth for several minutes now."

She gives me a sly look. "That is not what I mean and you know it. You brought a _man_ home." The stress on 'man' is not so much to indicate gender as it is to emphasize Jareth's… maturity. I know I am going to have to tell them his fake age sooner rather than later.

"I ran into him on vacation," I begin, recalling our prepared story. Karen pulls me into the kitchen, leaving Jareth to fend for himself against my overprotective male kin. "And we spent time together when he wasn't working and I wasn't visiting my vacation desinations."

"You didn't let him… pressure you, did you?" Karen is so blunt.

"Mom! It's not like that!"

"It isn't? Because I'm pretty sure that's what is means when you bring a man home, especially a—how old _is_ he?"

"He's only thirty-four," I whine.

"Only? That's" she does the math quickly in her head "fifteen years older than you. He is practically twice your age."

"_Was_ twice my age when we met," I mumble, as if accidently. I put my hand over my mouth and widen my eyes, looking at Karen as if realizing I said that loud enough to hear.

She does math in her head again and gives me a quizzical look that holds both suspicion and relief. "You met him when you were fifteen?" There is the reason for her suspicion. "So you've known him for several years now?" There, apparently, is the reason for her relief: we've known each other long enough that, although our meeting seems a little pedophilic, we are not rushing into things.

"So it's not like that, huh?"

I twitch my cheeks. "I didn't mean it isn't like _that_, I meant it isn't _sexual_."

"But you want it to be."

This is why I do not talk to Karen about boys. "_Mom!_ You know I—"

"Yes, I know; I know. Calm down, honey; I am just teasing you."

"Some way to tease."

I know this conversation is far from over, but we are interrupted by Dad.

"Apparently the children haven't eaten yet, Karen," he announces as he walks into the kitchen. I hope he is not grouping Jareth into the 'children.'

We manage to prepare and eat breakfast and spend time playing with the toddlers and socializing amongst the adults without awkward conversation for a while. I sneak away for a moment to call the apartment complex office to learn the procedures for moving out. Jareth and I purposefully gradually expose my family to our purported closeness. Karen whispers to Dad and Robby at different times and I am sure she is sharing her gleaned information about our possible romantic relationship.

After a while, Jareth and I find ourselves on the back porch swing, while Toby and Freddy run around the house with invisible goblins and my parents and older brother converse in the kitchen. I see Dad and Mom leave Robby and head to the living room. Robby disappears upstairs. I rise, intended to eavesdrop on my parents in the living room, but Jareth pulls me back down to the bench swing.

"What are you doing?"

"I was going to listen in," I admit.

"Here."

Jareth summons a crystal and holds it in front of us. As I watch it, curious, I see the image of my parents in the living room. I gasp. He is _scrying_. How convenient! Wait, does he ever do that to _me_? I am interrupted in my thoughts by my father's voice _in my head_ and I turn back to watch the image in the crystal.


	9. Unexpected Request, Unexpected Answer

So, for those of you who have not already been informed, the original chapters 1-8 were distilled into the current chapters 1-5, therefore the current chapters 6-9 (not just 9) are all new if you have not read since then.

Please read, review, and favorite! I was really uncertain about how to write this final chapter because it seems to have more gravity than I can express… so please help!

I think I will write a sequel, let me know what you think of the idea.

Chapter Nine

An Unexpected Request and an Unexpected Answer, a.k.a. The End

"They don't seem very attracted to each other. I do see him steal glances of her occasionally, but he seems more curious or… entertained than he does… passionate."

Karen laughs. "I thought a man would be more sensitive to the attraction someone has for his own daughter."

Dad bristles. I have to put effort into avoiding looking at Jareth. Dad appears to be considering Karen's words.

"I guess you're right. Perhaps I was just wishful-thinking… but Sarah still shows no signs of being attracted to him, or noticing that he is attracted to her." His tone of voice clearly implies that he thinks he is wishful-thinking again.

"Oh, don't be silly! There is a difference being oblivious to a man's affections and being _comfortable_ with them. _We_ don't stare at each other longingly or fidget with acute awareness, like teenagers."

"Is our daughter a gold digger?"

I hold in a laugh.

"What makes you say that?" Karen asks with horrified confusion.

"The man is obviously well off, and quite a bit older than her; it just seems like attraction to money is more likely than attraction to… him. I bet he is closer in age to me than her."

Yes, but only because he is older than both of us.

"Oh, honey, age is not the end-all-be-all." Her voice clearly indicates that she thinks Jareth is gorgeous enough to make up for his supposed thirty-four year age. "If they are attracted to each other and can match wits, so to speak, they should be fine. The boys Sarah's age are just that: _boys_. I was not expecting her to come home with anyone less than five years her senior. She is too mature for that."

Dad sighs. "I suppose you're right." I can practically hear him think 'But_ fifteen_ years older?'

They rise from the couch. Oh, no! They are going to come in search of us now.

I look at Jareth in panic. My parents will not suspect I was _eavesdropping_ specifically, but they will know I did _something_. I am terrible at hiding my guilt from them when caught unaware.

"It's okay, precious," Jareth coos as if he knows what I am thinking.

A single gloved finger lifts me by the chin. Jareth's gaze captivates me and my panic and guilt and everything but Jareth melt from my mind just as I am vaguely aware of my parents' presence nearby, but that does not matter anymore.

I look into eyes that have seen more than I can imagine. They are blue. Like the ocean. Like the shadows in snow. Like the sky. Like bluebells. Like sapphires. Like everything at once, every shade of blue shimmers in the depths of his eyes and I am entranced. There is pain and sorrow and questioning within their depths, but also longing and hope and affection, and a bit of his usual self-assurance that mixes with desire and manifests as possessiveness.

I feel my eyelids slipping closed and realize his gloved finger is guiding my face toward his, or, more accurately, my lips toward his lips. Despite the two lone points of contact—his finger on my chin and our lips lightly meeting—my whole body is aware of and screaming for him. Forgetting my environment, I lean into his kiss ever so slightly (which requires great control) and feel his finger leave my chin, the soft leather of his gloved hand cupping my cheek instead. The kiss is not needy or unrestrained, but it is passionate—a controlled, soft passion that leaves my body more submissive than any lip-bruising kiss could.

Jareth pulls away from me slowly, recapturing my gaze and searching my eyes—for what I do not know.

"Ahem."

Suddenly reality reappears around us. My parents are watching. Oh, bog! How long have they been watching?—I swiftly replay my memories—since Jareth was holding my chin before we kissed, at the latest. Well, we put on quite a performance, didn't we? I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but that is okay; what else would one expect of a daughter caught kissing a man in her parents' home (or on their porch)?

Dad is glaring at Jareth as if to say 'cradle robber.' Why did I not think to have Jareth alter his appearance to look younger? Karen is in a pose of glee, her eyes shining, her hands clasped and held against her chest, bouncing on her toes.

After that scene, I was subject to being pulled away by Karen once again to finish our private conversation. It is more awkward than I predicted. Shortly after I manage to free myself from Mom, Dad corners me and we have a private talk of our own. If I thought Karen's conversation was awkward, Dad's is infinitely worse, and intimidating. Somehow I survive, with the generous help of Jareth, who whisks me off after each conversation and makes me… forget about it. Other than the awkward parent-child conversations, and an attempt at a similar one by Robby, we enjoy polite conversation, games, and playing with the toddlers. I manage to avoid the topic of Jareth's supposed age, even with Dad, and I am able to brush off the concerns about his status as a foreigner. Jareth has a plan, apparently, and instructed me to act like I am unsure about our relationship status. I do not mind, since that is infinitely better than suddenly bringing home a man and saying "Surprise! We're getting married!" I really do not want to be my father's first murder victim (well, I doubt he would succeed in killing _Jareth_).

It is evening now, and I need to go back to the flat, or more accurately, to the office so I can pick up the paperwork for moving out. They are closed tomorrow, Sunday, and I want to pick up the paperwork as soon as possible. Going to the office is also a good excuse to get out of here. I am exhausted after eight hours of… this.

"Jareth," I lean over and whisper, "the office closes at five," I increase my volume a little "if we don't leave soon we won't make it."

I talked just loud enough for Dad and Karen to hear, and they perk up. Jareth rises and offers me his hand.

Taking it, I say "Well, Dad, we need to get going."

"Oh? Where are you off to?" inquires Karen.

"Dinner," Jareth supplies. Well, it is not entirely a lie. I am sure we will eat dinner at some point tonight.

"Oh, how wonderful." Karen is in her happy pose again.

Dad extends his hand. "It was… good to meet you, Jareth."

We exchange parting words and hugs (from me) and handshakes (from Jareth) with everyone. I whisper assurance to Robby, admonish Toby to behave, and give the goblins a stern look where they are hiding in a corner. They were more themselves and less careful today, perhaps because of the presence of their King.

I heave a sigh as we get into my car. "Well, I'm not sure that that went _well_, but I'm glad it is over and done with."

"I think it went well," Jareth offers.

"Oh? Even if it did, the worst part is we only have two weeks to make them think that we're more than friends—"

"I believe we already impressed that upon them, love."

"—and tell them that I am leaving, and to a place they cannot visit, no less."

"I have already set all that in motion."

I steal a glance at him at a stoplight. "What did you do? Does that have to do with your mysterious plan?"

"Yes," Jareth replies simply.

"Well, I guess you are right about them thinking we are more than friends. With the way Dad and Mom interrogated me…"

I can hear his smirk as he says "I think that kiss left a strong impression."

I choke on my words and feel heat rise in my cheeks. Why did he mention _that_?

Jareth saves me from having to reply, telling me some of his executed plan. "I already gave your Dad the impression that I intend to marry you, so they should be accustoming themselves to the idea. As early as tonight you can call them and announce our engagement. That will give them a longer time to become comfortable with the idea of you leaving before you actually do."

At another stoplight, I turn and stare at him. He said everything so matter-of-factly I almost believe it is truth rather than a discussion about deceiving my parents. I quell the uncalled-for emotions that automatically respond to his words.

A car horn startles me from my staring. The light has changed.

We drive in silence for a while. I do not want to ask for further explanation, but Jareth seems just as intent on telling me nothing more voluntarily. We are at the office now, though, so it will have to wait.

When we arrive at my flat, paperwork in hand and information in mind, I plop onto the sofa. I need to speak the information in my head before anything else, in order to remember it.

"I can do the paperwork myself, since Dad added my name to the contract when I turned eighteen and then I convinced him to take his name off later. I can give no less than thirty days notice, although nothing stops me from moving my things out as early as I want. I will still be responsible for the apartment for those thirty days, though, including the cost. The original contract was only for a year and automatically turned over to a month-to-month contract after that, so there is no fee for breaking contract, luckily. With the cost of our shopping trip last night, though, I don't think I can repay Dad fully on top of the cost of another full month of rent, even if I work the next two weeks."

"I repaid you the cost of my clothing."

I look at Jareth, momentarily confused, and then remember the necklace. I look down at it. "But I do not want to sell it."

Jareth chuckles and I look up. What is funny? Suddenly, a coin is weaving in between his fingers with the same mesmerizing grace with which he contact-juggles his crystals.

"We can exchange currency tomorrow—"

"Monday," I correct.

"—and I will pay you back in your human currency. You will not have to sell the necklace. Consider it a gift."

I sputter. "A gift!? Do you know how much—of course you know how much... you gave it to me to pay back the clothing expenses. Still! That is too—"

"Generous?"

I stare at Jareth for the umpteenth time today. And for some reason I do not flinch away when he bends down to me.

"I have been nothing but generous with you, Sarah, though you have given me reason enough to be cruel. You ask me to fulfill your wishes and are unpredictable in snubbing me or accepting my munificence when I do. I am disappointed that you continue to reject" I flinch "my generosity."

"I am not… rejecting your generosity. I am just not… assuming it; as you said, you have more reason to be cruel to me than generous. You have already forewent vengeance on me and given me some of my dreams, undeserved. I cannot ask anything more of you."

Jareth stares at me, as if contemplating. We remain like that for a long time.

"You cannot ask, but can you accept?"

"Jareth?"

"If I offer you my generosity freely, rather than have you request it of me as you did in asking to stay in the Underground, would you accept it?"

"Yes," I say, before my conscious thought comprehends the question, or my answer.

Jareth is openly surprised at my quick decision, but the surprise is apparently pleasant, because a smile plays on his lips. That smile makes me inexplicably nervous. He leans closer; I can feel his breath on my ear.

"Then please accept the necklace, precious, and my repayment."

"I accept." That came out much more breathy than I intended. And not my preferred choice of words.

My eyes widen. Why? Because Jareth is initiating contact. Again. Only this time there are no parents around for whom to put on a show. And if I thought my thought processes were limited last time—think again, Sarah. Oh, wait, I can't.

His gloved hands are on either side of my waist and his lips brush my ear. And then suddenly he is across the room. His touch was momentary, but the memory is burned in my mind. I stare at him. His hold was not painful, but it was solid. So solid, in fact, that despite the apparent lightness of his touch I instinctively know I have nowhere near enough strength to break free. Whenever I escaped his hold before, it was because he allowed it. My ear burns where he placed the kiss. The rest of my ears and face burn, too, but not quite as much.

I look away and try to remember what we needed to talk about. Slowly, my thoughts return to me. I already said what I needed to about ending the contract for the studio. What were we talking about in the car? Oh. Our faux engagement and how Jareth had executed a plan that meant I could call my parents and tell them tonight. Tonight?

"Jareth," I begin, looking up. He is watching me already, or still. "What was your plan? What did you do? Why does Dad already think you intend to… marry me?"

His usual smirk returns for a fleeting moment, but he draws his face into a somber expression.

"I asked your father for his blessing."

I say nothing. I just stare.

After a moment's pause, "I believe the humans refer to it as asking for one's hand in marriage. But _I_ do not ask for _permission._ I asked for his support, and gave the courtesy of forewarning whether or not he would bestow his blessing. He did, of course."

I still say nothing. I continue staring.

We stay like that for another long moment. Me sitting on the sofa, staring at Jareth. Jareth leaning casually against the wall, returning my gaze. I am not dumbfounded at the thoroughness of his acting. I am dumbfounded because he is telling the truth.

Not that I expect him to lie. Not that I expected his asking for my hand to be a lie. But because he did not ask for my hand as part of the act. He actually asked for my hand. He actually told my father he actually intends to propose. Which means he actually intends to propose. To me. The Goblin king intends to propose to me.

Well that is one way to express forgiveness.

"Jareth."

A million memories jumble to the forefront of my mind, all at once. _But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl._

_The glee and certainty in his eyes when he introduced himself. The way he bowed and asked me to call him Jareth._

"_I've brought you a gift." "It's a crystal. Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams. But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby." His eyes begging me to take it._

"_It's farther than you think." His face is close, too close._

"_Turn back, Sarah. Turn back before it's too late." "What a pity."_

"_Even if you get to the center, you'll never get out again." _

"_Tell me Sarah, what do you think of my Labyrinth?" He is leaning against the wall, looking down at me with a self-assured smirk and… honest expectation._

"_The way forward is sometimes the way back." _

"_I'll place the sky within your eyes / There's such a fooled heart / Beating so fast in search of new dreams / A love that will last within your heart / I'll place the moon within your heart" "I'll be there for you / As the world falls down" "I'll paint you mornings of gold / I'll spin you Valentine evenings" His eyes are intent. His hold is solid. There is a pain behind his eyes. He implores me to accept my dreams, not to run away from them, as if he cares that I am happy rather than enduring hardship. He is going to kiss me._

"_How you turned my world, you precious thing / You starve and near exhaust me / Everything I've done, I've done for you" "Though I do believe in you / Yes I do / Live without the sunlight / Love without your heartbeat / I can't live within you" The cruelty in his eyes is masking sorrow._

"_I have been generous up 'til now." He is desperate. Not to win. For me. "Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for _you_! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations. Isn't that generous?"_

"_I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave." His eyes, pleading._

_The pain and disappointment and sorrow on his features as they melt into the form of an owl._

"Jareth, what are you saying?"

He is in front of me now, on his knees on the ground before the sofa in a very un-kingly fashion. This puts us at approximately the same height. Without looking away from my eyes, he lifts one of my hands and entwines our gloved fingers.

"Sarah," he implores in a voice both soft and strong. "You fear me. You love me. You do as I say. And I am your slave.

"You are my queen. You share my power. You command the respect of my subjects. You have earned recognition from my Labyrinth.

"Accept my kingdom. Accept my love. Accept me. Say you will be mine, forever."

His statements are intoned as inarguable truth, and his requests are commanding, but I somehow know him well enough to recognize the beseeching beneath the self-assurance he assumed in defense against his unusual nervousness.

I know what my answer is. My answer is the same as it always has been, had we not allowed others to come between us.

"I accept."


End file.
